t > 


>S 635 
. Z9 
)691 
°py 1 


13 € 31 






A 




I^EVOLUTIOMA^Y Mi^RRIA^E. 


Drama in Five Acts, 


BY 




V 


FLORENCE T. DONNELL. 


Copyrighted 1890, 
by 

Florence T. Donnell. 





PRESS OF 

WILLIAM R. JENKINS, 

851 & 853 6th Avenue, New York. 
1890. 
















A 


REVOLUTIONARY MRRRIAI^E 

Drama in Five Acts, 



FLORENCE T. DONNELL. 


Copyrighted 1890, 

BY 

Florence T. Donnell. 


<■' ■ 






3F 


OFCO/y^ 
qOPYR ight 




•? 


FEB 281890 


V? 




^SHI N®TO 




PRESS OF 

WILLIAM R. JENKINS, 

851 & 853 6th Avenue, New York. 
1890. 


o 


O 




CHARACTERS. 


General GILBERT MEUNIER. 

Captain, afterwards Colonel MOREAU. 
Marquis de FRONTENAEC. 

GRiCCHUS BEAUTEMPS. 

Monsieur TABELLION. 

Corporal, afterwards Sergeant BIENYENU. 
BRUTUS DULAC. 

REGULUS RASPAIL. 

YVES. 

Marquise de FRONTENAEC. 

LOUISE DE FRONTENAEC. 

AMELIE MOREAU. 

SOPHIE. 


Time Act I, 24th of July 1794. Acts II, III, IY, 
Y, Autumn of 1797. 



Place :—Chateau of Frontenaec, near Savenay, Depart¬ 
ment of the Loire, France. 


Act I, The Revolutionary Marriage. 
“ II, The Return. 

“ III, The Rivals. 

“ IY, The Rupture. 

“ V, The Reconciliation. 


TMP92—009118 







A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE 


ACT I. 

SCENE I.—Salon in the Chateau of Frontenaec in La Vendee. 
Long French windows on the terrace. Louis Quinze furniture, 
many dainty articles of brie a brae scattered about. Small fancy 
table or desk near the foreground, 1. c., large oblong table, r. c. 
with embroideiy stand, and arm chair near the table, but 
towards the center. 


SCENE I. 

MARQUISE and LOUISE. 

Marquise de Frontenaec in arm chair, embroidering. She wears 
the large hoops of Louis XV’s reign, grey hair dressed high, 
a la Pompadour. Whole costume, rich, but severe. Louise de 
Frontenaec, young girl of sixteen, looking out of one of the 
windows. She wears simple toilette of white, without hoops, 
made in the style of the day, rather short waisted, with fichu. 
Skirts two or three inches above the ground ; slippers ; flowing 
hair, caught by knot of light blue, or pink ribbon. 

Marquise. —Do you see anything more, dearie ? 

Louise. —No, grandmamma, nothing more, and it is 
now more than ten minutes since I saw the last re¬ 
publican soldier disappear down the Nantes road. 

Marquise. —Ah! I can never believe they are quite 
gone, since that horrible day after the battle of Save- 
nay, when they searched the house for refugees from 




4 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE. 


the king’s army. But why should I fear? I have not 
emigrated. I am a soldier’s daughter, I can take no 
part in a civil war, when foreign enemies are at the 
frontiers; and then our peasants have always reported 
in our favor to the authorities at Nantes. 

Louise, coming forward and seating herself on tabou¬ 
ret at her grandmother s feet. — Ah ! grandmamma, I 
am not as brave, as you are. I think I should die 
if the blues were to come to the house again. Oh! 
that terrible man with the imperious voice, and the 
tricolor sash ; how he made me shiver, when he 
looked at me so sternly, and asked me if there w T as 
nothing treasonable, I was concealing from the law. 
Ah! grandmamma, you know I am not brave, but I 
would have died rather than reveal that box, where 
you keep cousin Hector’s letters, in the secret drawer 
of the ecritoire. 

Marquise, looking around, startled. — Hush! hush! my 
dearie ; in these terrible days the walls have ears.* 

Louise, seated on tabouret at the feet of the Marquise 
who caresses her from time to time . — Ah! how w r ell 
I remember cousin Hector ; although it is more than 
five years since I saw him, and I was only eleven 
years old then ; but I assure you grandmamma, I 
already thought myself quite a young lady. 

Marquise, smiling. — I don’t doubt it, little one. 

Louise. —And cousin Hector used to flatter me, tell 
me how pretty I was, and a lot of other silly things, 
and then that I should be his little wife when I grew up, 
(pouting). But, for example, I should not have liked 
that. 

Marquise. —Nor I either, now, my child, though once 


ACT 1. 


5 


it was my dearest dream for your cousin Hector, 
though he is my grandson, the last of his name, has 
displeased me deeply. 

Louise. — I know you think he did wrong to emigrate, 
but poor Hector was always timid. 

Marquise. —I might have excused him for deserting 
his king in the hour of danger. I cannot excuse him 
for joining his country’s enemies, and spending his leis¬ 
ure in London, in a life of idle, and frivolous pleasure, 
In these days of anguish, of what does he write in every 
letter, conveyed with such difficulty, and danger, but 
of money, more money to be sent to him at any risk ; 
that he may waste it in disgraceful amusements. 

Louise. —But since you wrote him four weeks ago 
that our last resources were exhausted ; have you not 
heard from him ? 

Marquise. —Ah ! his last letter is his crowning insult. 
To think that once I dreamt of marrying my good little 
girl to such a wretch. Ah ! now I would rather give 
your hand to any stranger on whose honesty I could 
rely. 

Louise.— Hush ! grandmamma, I have a decided 
objection to being married off in that kind of way. 
Why should we let any stranger intrude into our life, 
where we two are so happy together, in spite of every¬ 
thing. 

Marquise, drawing Louise to her breast, and kissing her. 
—Ah ! that is it, my dearest, if we could always remain 
together; but I am very old my little one, I shudder to 
think that sometime I might die, and leave you all alone 
in this wicked world, without any one to protect, or care 


6 


A RE VOL UTIONAR Y MA RR1A GE, 


for you. But you shall hear Hector’s letter. I have it 
here in my bosom, (drawing a letter from her dress ) afraid, 
as I am, to leave it anywhere else. (reads). 

Madame, and dear grandmother: 

This will be placed in your hand, by a trusted agent 
of Monsieur Puisaye, who has charge of the King’s 
interests at the Court of St. James, and who begs leave 
to inform you through my intermediary, that all 
arrangements have been made for a descent in force of 
his majesty’s army, at some place on the coast between 
Lacmariquer, and Quiberon. We will be conveyed by a 
strong British fleet, and have received the promise of 
ten thousand English soldiers to accompany us. And, 
now madame, and dear grandmother, as I have often 
represented to Monsieur Puisaye, how near the King’s 
cause is to your heart, how ardently you wish for his 
restoration, how justly you detest the present govern¬ 
ment of brigands; and yet how assured is your position 
with the authorities of Nantes ; he thought that this 
unique and providential circumstance might be utilized 
for the successful termination of our expedition ; if you 
would so far make a temporary sacrifice of your pride, 
as to mingle with that republican canaille, and so obtain 
a knowledge of their future movements ; a knowledge 
which would be of inestimable value to his majesty, and 
all his faithful servants. I would also humbly suggest 
that my beautiful cousin might employ some of those 
graces and charms, with which nature has so abundantly 
endowed her, in so holy a mission. 

I have made arrangements that all future messages, 
may be conveyed with the same safety, and celerity 
which has attended our past communications. I beg 
you to present the most respectful testimonials of my 


ACT 1. 


7 


admiration, and affection to my beautiful cousin ; and 
to believe me, as always, Madame, and dear grand¬ 
mother. 

Your affectionate grandson, and servant, 

Hector Honore Sigisbert de Frontenaec. 

Marquise.— And this is the postscript. 

Dear and respected Madame, 

It is uneccessary to say how anxiously we await your 
first communication. 

(Signed) De Puisaye. 

(While reading , the Marquise must show suppressed excitement 
and growing indignation). 

Marquise. —And is not this infamous ? Oh ! that his 
father’s son should dare to write me such a letter. Invite 
me to helj) introduce the enemy’s army into his own 
country; ask me, his aged grandmother to play the part 
of an adventuress; and to lay out such an infamous role 
for you, you darling child; that is what I will never 
forgive him. (Rising and crossing to writing table l. c.) But 
he shall receive his first communication soon. Come 
here, my little one, and help me with the secret drawer, 
your young fingers are nimbler than mine, for I will 
send him back all his disgraceful letters that I kept, 
poor fool, as tokens of affection. 

(While Marquise writes, Louise takes out box , opens it, and 
lays it before her.) (Noise of hurried steps outside. Enter 
Yves , followed by Sophie, L. D.) 


8 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


SCENE II. 

MARQUISE, LOUISE, SOPHIE, YVES. 

Yves. —Oh ! madame ; it’s the blues, it’s the blues : a 
whole brigade of them from Nantes. And they’re coming 
up the hill to the chateau, with the general at their 
head. 

Sophie. —And such a general, madame la marquise ; 
without wig, or powder, and his horse’s bridle mended 
with old ropes. 

Marquise. —Run, run, my good Yves, and see if you 
can not delay their coming ; and you, Sophie, go quick 
to the door on the terrace, and see that no one enters 
there. 

(.Exeunt Sophie and Yves). 

Marquise.— Come, come Louise my child, don’t tremble 
so, but help me; for if they come now we are lost. 

(A noise of heavy tramping on the terrace. Louise in trying 
to reclose the box. lets it fall] and the papers are scattered 
on the floor. Marquise throivs her handkerchief over her 
nephew's last letter and her answer, and stands in front of 
desk; while Louise nearer the background endeavors to 
conceal the box , and papers, by standing in front of them. 
Enter Beautemps, by window c.f, followed by Dulac and 
Raspail. Dulac and Raspail wear Phrygian caps , dark 
blue knit blouses and breeches , leather belts. Beautemp)s in 
simple and severe dress of the day, long double breasted 
coat , tricolor sash, hat with large tricolor cockade. Whole 
aspect stern and stiff] saluting slightly, but with dignity. 


ACT l 


9 


SCENE III. 

BEAUTEMPS, DULAC, BASPAIL, 
MARQUISE, and LOUISE. 

Beautemps.— Salutation, and fraternity, citoyennes. 

( Unfolding paper with large seals, and reading ). 

In the name of the Republic, one, and indivisible ; 
I, Caius Gracchus Beautemps, mayor of the Commune 
of Savenay; by powers received from the representative 
of the people, Carrier, in Nantes, am authorized, and 
commissioned to search this house for all suspicious 
papers, documents, or other indications of treason. 

(To Dulac and Baspail.) 

Citizens, do your duty. 

Louise, starting forward imploringly, and in her hasty 
movement leaving exposed to view, overturned box and scat¬ 
tered papers. —Ah! pity, Monsieur, have pity; if you 
knew ; we meant no harm. My grandmother was even 
indignant- 

Marquise, who stands m front of ecritoire, concealing let¬ 
ters from view. —Be silent, child. You cannot move these 
men to pity. You but abase us by your useless prayers. 

Beautemps, perceiving the box with scattered papers .— 

Peace, young woman. All the tears in the world will 
not wipe out treason to the country in times of danger; 
nor the artfulness with which you have concealed your 
crime. Citizen Dulac, take up those papers and place 
them on the table ; then begin your search without 
further delay, and you, Citizen Baspail, go to General 
Meunier, and ask for an escort of soldiers to take these 
women to Nantes, there to suffer the penalty the law 
edicts for traitors. 


10 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Raspail. —Very well, citizen Mayor. 

[Exit Raspail, w. c.f.) 

Marquise. —But surely, Monsieur, you cannot be so 
inhuman as to inflict upon this child penalties for that 
of which I alone am guilty, if guilt there be. 

Beautemps, seated at table, r. c —That will all depend 
upon what these papers may reveal. Oh! hah ! from 
the emigrant Frontenac—hem !—he writes for money 
to be used in villainous schemes for the restoration of 
the tju’ant, no doubt. Hem! hem ! no! Debts of 
honor ; debts of vice rather—gambling, unavoidable-— 
say unavowable expenses. Hah ! ah ! —object to emi¬ 
grate. Ah ! — 

(.Meanwhile Dutac, who has been turning out the contents of 
drawers in cabinets, turning vases downwards to shake out 
supposed contents, etc., etc., advances towards the desk in 
the foreground, where the Marquise is standing. Louise, 
ivho has been watching him anxiously, starts forward to 
obstruct his advance towards her grandmother.) 

Dulac, pushing her aside roughly. —Out of the way, 
young viper. These serpents learn to hiss young. 

Beautemps, looking up sharply. —Out of the way, old 
woman, and let the desk be searched. 

Marquise. —Never, while I live. 

Beautemps.— Ah! I understand it all now, the fine 
plot, which would fool me with these innocent papers, 
while the real proofs of treason are concealed there. 

(Rises and advances towards center .) 

(Enter Corporal Bienvenu with six soldiers, uniform of the 
period). 




ACT I. 


11 


SCENE IV. 

BEAUTEMPS, MARQUISE, LOUISE, DULAC, 
BIENVENU and Soldiers. 

Bienvenu.— What are your orders citizen mayor ? 

Beautemps.— Remove these women, and hold them in 
waiting for the result of investigations. 

Bienvenu, aside .—That old woman too, what a task 
for a soldier; and that pretty girl, what a task for a 
Frenchman. ( Salutes and advances reluctantly toivvrds 
Marquise, followed by four of the soldiers, ichile two advance 
towards Louise ). 

Marquise.— Oh ! to see my darling child dragged 
away by the soldiers. My God ! will no one have pity 
on me. 

{Enter Meunier, followed by Moreau, window c.f. Meunier 
in uniform of General of the Republican armies ; Moreau 
in that of Captain. The soldiers step) baclc saluting. The 
marquise still l. c. in front of the desk. Louise nearer the 
background l. Beautemps r. c. foreground.) 


SCENE Y. 

MEUNIER, MOREAU, MARQUISE, LOUISE, BEAU¬ 
TEMPS, DULAC, BIENVENU and 6 Soldiers. 

Meunier.— What is the meaning of this display of 
force, citizen mayor? {Glancing at the two women). 

Louise, starting forward , and catching him prayerfully by 
the hand .—Oh ! Monsieur, surely you will have pity. 
Everyone says the republican soldiers are brave, and 
brave men can not be merciless. 



12 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Meunier, gently releasing his hand .—Have no fear my 
child, if pit} r is due ; pity shall be shown, 

Beautemps.— Ah ! Meunier, you do not know with 
what artful creatures you have to deal. They impose 
upon me those documents in which I can find nothing 
treasonable ; while the real nest of diabolical plots lies 
concealed in that desk from which the old aristocrat 
refuses to stir. 

Meunier.— Gently, gently, citizen mayor : give this 
affair over to me. I think I can manage it without need 
of violence. 

Beautemps. —There is no one living, has more con¬ 
fidence in the patriotism of the brave General Meunier 
than I have ; but is this not an affair which belongs to 
the civil, rather than the military authority. 

Meunier.— I think not, citizen mayor; but in any 
case, I will answer for the use I may make of my 
authority, and I need not assure you if I find here 
aught that indicates treasonable intents, aught that 
would endanger the republic; there is no one who will 
guard her sacred cause more truely, more vigilantly 
than I. 

Beautemps, seizing Meunier's hand .—I believe you 
citizen general. So be it, then. I wish you speedier, 
and I doubt not, more successful work than mine. 

(Exit Beautemps, followed by Dulac). 

Meunier, to Bienvenu. — Corporal, take your men away. 
(.Exeunt Bienvenu and Soldiers, window c. f. after saluting.) 




ACT I. 


13 


SCENE VI. 

MEUNIER, MOREAU, MARQUISE, LOUISE. 

Meunier, to Marquise. — And now citoyenne ; I need 
not tell you : you have no violence to expect from me. 
We soldiers came down into Brittany to combat men, 
not to badger women. But I must at the same time 
warn you that the only course at once safe, and wise, 
would be to give up to my aide de camp, Captain 
Moreau, any papers that desk may contain. Remember 
I do not threaten you; I will even confess, that there is 
nothing I would not do, compatible with my duty, to 
save you from the consequences of your own rashness* 
But there is a point, I do not disguise it from you, 
where my authority would be insufficient to protect 
you. 

Marquise. —Monsieur, you are a gentleman, if you are 
a republican. To you I yield. I can only beg you to 
exonerate this child from all blame. Whatever that 
gentleman may find written there is my work—mine 
entirely. 

Meunier.— Believe me, citoyenne, I will do all I can, 
meanwhile if you, and your granddaughter wish to retire 
to another room; I need not tell you ; you are at perfect 
liberty to do so; forgive me if I add all escape would be 
hopeless, as the chateau is surrounded by soldiers. It 
may seem a brutality to tell you this, citoyenne, but my 
motives are far from brutal. 

Marquise. —I thank you for it Monsieur, as well for 
your other courtesies. 

(Exeunt Marquise and Louise by d. r.) 


14 


A HE VOL UTIONA R V MARR1A GE, 


SCENE VII. 

MEUNIER and MOREAU. 

{Meunier seated at table examining papers. Moreau, after 

removing letters from desk, returns to table.) 

Meunier. —The poor old woman ; liow hard she tried 
to control her grief. 

Moreau. —And the pretty young one, too. Ah! citizen 
general, if I had not left my heart in Paris, I should 
lose it now. 

Meunier, still examining papers. —Ah ! if those pale, 
cadaverous politicians had half the humanity we soldiers 
have, civil wars would soon be ended. Plots, plots, 
always plots ; as if intrigue availed aught against 
intrigue. Gordian knots can only be cut by the sword, 
and when that’s done, there should be an end of it : 
and after the victory there should be peace. But, ah! 
what’s this? descent on Quiberon ! landing in force! 
they must know that in Paris. But listen, listen to the 
answer, this is not a traitor’s letter. 

(.Reading Marquise's unfinished letter to Hector.) 

Monsieur de Frontenaec, 

I may have been guilty of many weaknesses. I do not 
know what crime I could have committed, that you, my 
grandson, should dare to insult me, the last who will 
bear the name of Frontenaec, for you are unworthy of 
it. Monsieur, my father was killed at Denain fighting 
the Austrians and English, my husband was killed at 
Fontenoy fighting the English and Austrians ; and you, 
their descendant, ask me to aid in bringing the English, 
and Austrians into the heart of this country for which 
they died, and all under the pretext that we are suffering 



ACT I. 


15 


from the atrocities of an infamous government. No 
one can wish more ardently than I the king’s return, 
whic .1 I am willing to serve by all legitimate means. 
No one can execrate more deeply than I this government 
of brigands, but when you make such propositions to 
me, all else disappears; and all I see is that they are still 
the same enemies, and that this is still the same France. 

Meunier.— Ah! the noble old woman, I must save her, 
Moreau. Democrats or Aristocrats, all those who love 
my country, and are true to it, are near, and dear to me, 

Moreau. —I can’t find anything so very serious here, 
either. The young scamp of a grandson seems to have 
been always in want of money; but what does that 
prove, that he was vicious, as all those young foplings 
are. 

Meunier.— It proves much more; it proves that the 
money, this young scamp extorted from these simple 
women, went into the pockets of Puisaye in London, 
and was transformed into guns, and cartridges, in the 
hands of the royalist soldiers in La Vendee. If I can 
see that so plainly, do you think the lynx eyes of the 
authorities will be duller. Then those foolish phrases 
against the government, and about serving the tyrant 
by all legitimate means. Ah ! I can see no way to save 
the poor creatures. 

Moreau. —But surely, if any one can, you can citizen 
general ; you who have rendered such services, in whom 
every one has such confidence. Why even that cross 
bull-dog Beautemps let go his prey at the first word 
from you. 

Meunier. —Yes! that is true, and all depends on him ; 
but how long would his confidence last after I had left. 


16 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


True, lie thinks those papers he has seen, as innocent 
of political meaning, as they were in the eyes of the 
women who received them; true, he need never see these 
others. All that it is important for the government to 
know, the government shall know. But when his sus¬ 
picions are once roused, they are never quenched, till 
he finds, or fabricates a crime. Still, he is an honest 
fellow in spite of his harshness, and I believe if there is 
any one in the world he loves it is me, anything that 
would be sacred to him, it would be those in whom I 
am interested. 

Moreau. —Faith, then I see but one way out of the 
difficulty : that would be for you to marry the grand¬ 
daughter. Surely, he would not molest the wife of his 
dearest friend, 

Meunier. —I marry ! Are you mad? I wed a child like 
that! Why I don’t believe she’s twelve years old. What 
are you laughing at Moreau ? 

Moreau.— Nothing ! nothing at all! I was only think¬ 
ing citizen general, that you are a better judge of 
swords and guns, than of young ladies. Why! she’s 
the prettiest little fairy I ever clapt eyes on, and sixteen, 
or seventeen at least, maybe more. Those aristocrats 
are so small, and delicate, you can never tell just how 
old they are. Marry her, and Beautemps himself won’t 
think of molesting the Cito 3 r enne Meunier ; and her 
grandmother, that fine old lady will end her days in 
peace, while the delicious little beauty awaits her 
martial husband’s return from the wars. Ah ! citizen 
general, you are a happy man ; you have a chance of 
putting everything right, and winning the prettiest wife 
in France into the bargain. 


ACT 1. 


17 


Meunier. —You are in a merry humor ; yet there is 
reason in what you say. It seems the only course. 

Moreau.— The only course. Fie, citizen general, you 
are a stoic. Faith if it were not for my little Amelie I’d 
envy you. Ah! there’s no man living has a heartier, 
healthier hatred for male aristocrats than I have. But 
maj 7 Saint Just behead me, and Carrier drown me, if 
that hatred extends to the women of the aristocracy. I 
adore them all from first to last, with the fervor of a 
true republican soldier. Old, and young, pretty, and 
ugly, gray haired, and blonde haired, blue eyed or black, 
I kiss my hand to them all, the dear, suave, artful, 
distracting creatures, who can twist the most roystering 
trooper of us around their pretty little fingers, if they 
but half care to try. 

Meunier.— A truce to your merry badinage, comrade, 
there are difficulties you think not of. The government 
must know 7 of this landing of the English; but that will 
be for later. For the present I only wish to ensure the 
safety of this high-minded old woman, and this gracious 
child, by the only means which seem to be left to me- 
I mean no treason to my country. God forbid! my 
noble country, assailed on all sides, and yet combating 
for the good of all. I would give her the last drop of 
my blood, but I would save her from the dishonor, and 
the doom, which cling through all history to the gov¬ 
ernments which shed the blood of women. For the rest, 
the marriage would be but a form, to be dissolved, as 
soon as circumstances would permit. 

Moreau. —Only a form, citizen general, bah ! that 
would sjjoil all the romance. 

Meunier. —Yes, only a form, but as there is no time 
to lose; go seek the citoyenne Frontenaec, and request 


18 


A RE VOL UTIONA R Y MARRI A GE, 


her to honor me with her presence, that I may explain 
to her the dangers of her position, and the temporary 
expedient to which we are driven. 

Moreau.— Very well! citizen general. (Aside.) Temp - 
orary expedient, bah ! what a hardened stoic, and such 
a j^retty girl too. ( Exit Moreau , d. r.) 


SCENE VIII. 

Meunier, reading Frontenaec’s letter. — Will land in force 
between Quiberon, and Locmariquer, ten thousand 
English. The government must know this instantly, 
and if they do not credit it; if they do not take it ser¬ 
iously;—then they must be convinced, convinced at any 
cost. This I will keep. ( Putting tetter in his breast. 
Rereading Marquise's letter.) They are still the same 
enemies, it is still the same France. Noble soul! she 
shall not suffer, and the little girl who asked me to 
have pity. Ah ! I will save them both. 

{Enter Marquise , d. r.) 


SCENE IX. 

Marquise.— But what is it, that gentleman tells me, 
Monsieur, that you have found a way to protect my 
poor grandchild from the consequences of my im¬ 
prudence ? He says an honorable, and an easy way. 

Meunier.— You may not think it either citoyenne, 
when you learn it is the shelter of the plebeian name of 
Gilbert Meunier, he offers you; but, be not startled, it 
will be but a temporary shelter. I have read those 




ACT 1. 


19 


letters. I will not disguise from you that my admiration 
for your patriotism lias extinguished my resentment for 
political opinions which I do not share, and has inspired 
me with the proposition, I am about to make. 

Marquise.— Speak, monsieur, I am listening. 

Meunier.— Although, I believe you incapable of a 
thought of treason; citizen Beautemps would be much 
harder to convince; he is of that harsh race who would 
rather punish the innocent, than suffer the guilty to 
escape. While I remain here, I might be able to protect 
you; but I leave for Vannes in a few hours, and when 
Beautemp’s suspicions have once been so fiercely 
roused, they would not slumber long after my 
departure. 

Marquise.— I am listening attentively, Monsieur, 
what is it you would propose ? 

Meunier. —Citizen Beautemps loves me, and justty 
trusts my devotion for the republic, for I am devoted 
to the republic, body and soul. 

Marquise. —Continue, monsieur Meunier. 

Meunier. —But Beautemps, hard as he seems, has 
affections, and me he loves; everything that belongs to 
me, even nominally, would be sacred to him. 

Marquise. —And you would wish that Mademoiselle 
de Frontenaec should become sacred in his eyes, by 
becoming your wife. 

Meunier.— Citoyenne, you have spared me the dif¬ 
ficulty of saying it. 

Marquise. —You ask me to give you the hand of a 
child whom I adore; to you a stranger. 


20 


A REVO L UTIONA R Y MA RR l A GE, 


Meunier.— All! citoyenne, tlie marriage would be a 
mere formality; to be dissolved as soon as the danger is 
passed. 

Marquise.— And what guarantee of that should I have. 

Meunier, haughtily. —Only a soldier’s word; citoyenne. 

Marquise, looking in Meunier's eyes deliberately, and a fter 
a pause, extending her hand. —And that will be sufficient. 
But in spite of the manners of the court in which I 
passed my youth, marriage has never been to me, a 
mere formality; and my grandchild shall be taught to 
respect in prosperity the name which has sheltered her 
in adversity. 

Meunier, handing Marquise her letter. — Here is your 
letter, citoyenne, I give it back to you in the name of 
our common country; but your grandson’s letter I shall 
keep, and it will be my first care to acquaint the gov¬ 
ernment with that portion which concerns the public 
safety. 

Marquise.— Surely, Monsieur, you could not be so 
base as to betray my unfortunate grandson. 

Meunier, bitterly .■ — Ah ! fear not, he is safe in England 
no harm will come to him. I shall mention no names, 
if I can induce the Committee of Public Safety, to 
believe me without them. 

Marquise. —Without them, and if they do not believe 
you, with them, I suppose ? 

Meunier. — l 7 es, then, if they do not believe me, with 
them; but you shall receive ample warning to flee, 1 
promise you that. 

Marquise.— And you Monsieur, how would an alliance 
with a family tainted with such hideous treason serve 
you? 


ACT I. 


21 


Meunier.— It is my profession, citoyenne, to take the 
chances of life or death. 

Marquise. —You are a noble fellow, Monsieur Meunier, 
and in my most ambitious dreams for my grand¬ 
daughter ; believe me, I never wished her any other 
husband than a brave, and honest man. 

Meunier. —And now, as there is no time to lose, for 
the brigade leaves for Yannes, at six o’clock, I will see 
Beautemps, and reassure him, and then as lie is mayor 
of Savenay, he is entitled to perform the ceremony. 

Marquise. —And I will go to prepare my grandchild. 
And once again Monsieur, let me thank you for the 
trouble you have taken, still more for the danger, you 
may incur, and let me tell you that I trust you. 

Meunier. —And indeed citoyenne, your confidence 
shall not be betrayed. 

(Exit Marquise, d. ?*., at the same time enter Moreau by 

window c.f.) 


SCENE X. 

MEUNIER and MOREAU. 

Meunier. —But where have you been all this time ? 
you know I have no secrets from you, comrade. 

Moreau. — Only mooning about out there on the 
terrace, to see you were not interrupted in your 1 rea¬ 
sonable interview. But I saw Beautemps coming up this 
way, and so came in to warn you. 

Meunier. —He is the very man I want to see. 

(Enter Beautemps by ivindow c.f.) 



22 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE. 


SCENE XI. 

BEAUTEMPS, MEUNIER and MOREAU. 

Beautemps.— And, so you too citizen general have 
been convinced of their treason, and have sent them off 
to Nantes. 

Meunier. —On the contrary, Beautemps, so convinced 
am I of their loyalty, and patriotism, that I have 
determined to make their cause mine by marrying 
the granddaughter this very afternoon. 

Beautemps. —Are you crazy, Meunier, or have those 
artful aristocrats bewitched you with their devilish 
wiles. 

Meunier. —Have you ever known me to be wanting 
in intelligence Beautemps, and are not the days of 
witchcraft over? 

Beautemps. —I don’t understand it at all, there must be 
some devilish mystery. That young woman rushing to 
me with her whining outcries, as if to attract my atten¬ 
tion to those harmless papers, strewn on the floor in a 
studied confusion, while the old aristocrat masked the 
real danger. Did you have the desk searched, citizen 
general? 

Moreau, interrupting quickly. — Yes I searched it myself, 
I can explain all the mystery citizen mayor; it’s not so 
dark a one as you think. It all comes from your not 
knowing how to deal with women. If you attempt to 
order them, they are sure to disobey. But the citizen 
general has gentler manners. 

Beautemps. — Too gentle, I am afraid. (Turning to 
Meunier.) Did you find nothing treasonable in the desk? 


ACT l. 


23 


Meunier.— And, if I liad, would I give my name to 
cover treason? Surely, Beautemps, you would not 
suspect Gilbert Meunier of disloyalty to liis country in 
her hour of need. And then if my wife were guilty of 
treason, my head would answer for it. That is my 
guarantee, the real proof of my penetration and my 
sincerity. And, now, do you believe me, when I say> 
the Citoyennes Frontenaec are guiltless of treason. 

Beautemps, staggered. — You must be right, Gilbert, 
you must see deeper than I. Nothing then remains but 
to prepare for the wedding. 

Meunier, gayly. — Yes, a real revolutionary wedding, 
and you shall perform the ceremony, and remember it 
is to your care I shall leave my bride, and that on her 
safety depends mine also. 

Beautemps. —Fear not! fear not! I shall see no harm 
comes to her, that none may come to you. ( Seating 
himself at the table , at the end facing the audience , and 
spreading out a large sheet of paper , and beginning to write.) 
But there’s no time to lose ; have you by chance your 
birth certificate ? 

Meunier.— By a strange chancel have. (Taking out 
paper and handing it.) 

(Enter Marquise , leading in Louise followed by Yves and 

Sophie , d. r.) 


SCENE XII. 

MARQUISE, LOUISE, MEUNIER, MOREAU, 
BEAUTEMPS, YVES and SOPHIE. 

Beautemps. —And so citoyenne, you have decided to 
come over to the republic, and take a patriot for a son- 



24 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


in-law, and I am, it seems, to watch over your safety, 
and answer for your loyalty. 

Marquise, aside. —It is for the sake of this dear child. 

( Aloud ). You shall have no cause to complain of us, 
Monsieur. 

Meunier, advancing. —I assure you, you shall have no 
cause to regret your confidence. 

Marquise. —I do not doubt it, Monsieur. 

Beautemps. —But come quick, there is no time to lose. 
Give me your papers, {Marquise hands Beautemps package 
of documents.) and you shall see how a republican mar¬ 
riage is performed. {Beautemps at the head of table facing 
audience , Marquise and Louise r. Meunier and Moreau, l. 
Yves and Sophie behind the two groups.) 

Beautemps, reading. —Ou the sixth day of the month 
of Thermidor, year two of the Republic, one and indivis¬ 
ible. Act of marriage of Gilbert Meunier, general of 
division, commanding the left wing of the army of the 
West, aged thirty two, born at Clermont in the depart¬ 
ment of the Puy-de-Dome, son of Jean Baptiste Meunier, 
carpenter,— 

Marquise. —Carpenter! 

Meunier, proudly. —Yes, and a good and honest one, 
citoyenne. 

Beautemps, continuing. —And of Marie, born Lacha- 
pelle, his wife ; and of Louise Diane Marie Hermence 
Sabine Frontenaec—we will leave out the de—aged 
sixteen, born at the dwelling formerly known as Chateau 
of Frontenaec, department of the Loire ; daughter of 
Louis Honore Frontenaec, officer in the navy, formerly 
called royal, and of Diane, born Sorberac, his wife. 


ACT 1. 


25 


And now do you Gilbert Member, and Louise Fron- 
tenaec join bands in the presence of Gracchus 
Beautemps, mayor of Savenay, and swear faith and 
fidelity. 

Meunier and Louise join hands across the table; Meunier 
firmly, Louise faintly .—I do! 

Meunier, aside. — How frightened she looks the poor 
child ! I shall never trouble her. 

Louise, aside. — How brave and proud he is, how 
different from all others. 

Beautemps, rising. — And so I declare you man and 
wife, in the name of the Republic, one and indivisible, 
till death, or the law shall part you. And now for the 
signatures, (handing pen to Louise). You sign first, 
Citoyenne Meunier. 

Louise. —Citoyenne Meunier, 

Marquise, aside .—Oh ! may I never regret this. A 
carpenter’s son too; but he is generous, and I do trust 
him. 

(As* Louise rises, Meunier signs.) 

Beautemps.— There are four witnesses, that is all the 
law requires. 

{Marquise and Moreau sign, also Sophie and Yves, the last 

two awkwardly.) 

Beautemps. —Here it is, as safely, and soundly done, 
as if it had taken the whole clergy of the ancient regime. 
I shall send a copy to the citoyenne to-morrow, and 
have one forwarded to you at Vannes, citizen general, 
but {Taking out large old fashioned watch.) there is no 
time to lose, so I will congratulate you citoyenne, for 
having won so patriotic a husband, and you Meunier on 




26 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


having made so attractive a convert to the cause of 
justice and liberty; and so, a happy honey-moon. 

(Exit Beautemps.) 

(A sound of trumpets heard behind the scene. The French 
clairon call.) 


SCENE XIII, 

MARQUISE, LOUISE, MEUNIER, MOREAU. 

Meunier.— And I too, must leave, citoyennes. (To the 
Marquise.) But do not forget what I told you ; and if 
you receive a warning from me, lose no time ; but fly 
instantly to some other part of France, under an 
assumed name; it would be your only chance of safety, 
for 1113’ name as well as yours would then have become 
fatal. 

Marquise.— And you, Monsieur, how dearly } t ou would 
then pay for the protection you have so kindly given us. 

Meunier.— Let us hope for the best, and if the worst 
come to the worst,—Well!—a man can die but once, a 
day sooner or a day later, what matters it ? The father- 
land, at least, would be forewarned and forearmed. 
And, now, my comrade and I must bid you farewell, 
hoping that the next time we meet, it may be under 
happier auspices. 

Marquise.— It is trying circumstances which prove 
men’s metal; and you, Monsieur, have stood well the 
proof, and have a right to all my gratitude; and your 
comrade too, who, I am sure, has seconded your good 
intentions. 



ACT 1. 


27 


Moreau, gallantly. —All! there are no revolutions which 
should deprive age, and beauty of the right to the 
services of a true Frenchman. 

Meunier. —And now, once again, adieu, citoyennes; 
till happier times may enable me to release you. 

(Exeunt Meunier and Moreau.) 

(Bugle calls heard at inter cals during the preceding scene. 
The window thrown open reveals on the terrace a line of 
soldiers, facing the house. As Meunier and Moreau pass, 
they ground arms, and the fanfare is heard, with which a 
commander is saluted in France; bugle calls in the 
distance.) 


SCENE XIV. 

MARQUISE and LOUISE. 

Louise. —Oh! he has saved us grandmamma! 

Marquise.— Yes, and at the risk of his life. Let us 
never forget that; and remember my child, that a mar¬ 
riage so contracted, should be sacred in the eyes of a 
true woman, even if it be a revolutionary marriage. 

( Curtain.) 



ACT II. 


SCENE I.—A dainty boudoir in the Chateau of Frontenaec, 
furnished in white, and gold, with blue brocaded, or tapestry 
coverings. Small fancy tables, sofas, etc.; little work table 1. c. 
near the foreground, with portrait on stand, and vase of flowers. 
Window in background, 1. f., door r, f. ; view of flower garden 
from window. Large table r. c. with books, newspapers, etc. 
Sophie, coquettish soubrette with lace cap and ribbons, arrang¬ 
ing furniture, and small articles about the room, takes up por¬ 
trait on work table 1. c. 

Sophie.— There’s the General’s portrait, that Colonel 
Moreau’s wife gave the little Madame. Well! it must be 
acknowledged he is a fine looking man. But for a droll 
husband, he is a droll husband. My faith, it’s three 
years since he married the little madame in the big 
parlor down on the terrace; and not a word, nor a sign 
from him since, excepting the message he sent through 
that cross Monsieur Beautemps, more than a year ago, 
when the old Marquise died. (Picking vp newspapers on 
table r.c.) Ah! but the madame’s newspapers must 
not be disturbed. The Moniteur, always the Moniteur, 
and that’s full of nothing but battles. Battles ! 
battles ! battle of Millesimo! battle of Dego! battle 
of Areola! battle of Bivoli! What reading for a 
pretty young thing like the madame ; then madame 
Moreau is just as crazy. Ah! but I understand it 
all; I had a military beau once myself, Bonaventure 
Bienvenu of the French guards. But he went away to 
the wars in 92 , and I haven’t laid eyes on him since. I 
hope he hasn’t been killed, poor fellow, in these horrid 


ACT II. 


29 


wars. Fighting and bloodshed all the time. It’s enough 
to make anybody sick, and we with such a gay govern¬ 
ment, too. I would have understood it in that ugly 
Robespierre’s time. Why, one was afraid even to be 
stylish, then. 

(Enter Yves carrying large bouquet.) 


SCENE II. 

SOPHIE and YVES. 

Yves.— Here’s a bouquet which monsieur le Marquis 
has just gathered in the garden, and he begs that 
Mademoiselle will accept it with his respsctful com¬ 
pliments. (Lays bouquet on the table). 

Sophie, reproachfully. —Mademoiselle. 

Yves. —Yes ! mademoiselle de Frontenaec. I can 
never train my old mouth to call her anything else. 
You would’nt want me to call her citoyenne, I suppose. 

Sophie.— Oh! no, every one can say monsieur or 
madame, now. Indeed it’s the fashion. But do you 
think the little Madame would like to hear you call her 
Mademoiselle, she who was so proud when she received 
that big letter from the government up in Paris, telling 
her General Meunier’s wound at the battle of Areola 
would not be fatal. 

Yves. —You can’t make an old Breton like me take 
seriously such a marriage as that, around a parlor table, 
without priest, or candles. 

Sophie.— You may take it any way you like, but it’s 
my opinion that the principal thing will be how the 
little madame takes it. 



30 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Yves. —And then I don’t like the idea of our Made¬ 
moiselle marrying a blue, and a stranger too. Why, 
there’s our own young marquis ready to kiss the very 
ground she walks on. 

Sophie, pettishly .—And great good may it do him. It’s 
my opinion, that now he’s once got back to France, 
with permission of the government; he’d better leave 
off politics ; and leave off trying to court the little 
Madame, too. 

Yves. —But is he not her own cousin, and without the 
revolution, would have been her husband, too ; I’ve 
heard the old Marquise say so many a time. 

Sophie.— You may think anything you like, but I tell 
you, your Monsieur de Frontenaec would do better to 
be more cautious, for that stern Monsieur Beautemps 
has his eye on him, and he living in the chateau too, to 
get us all into more trouble again. 

Yves, angrily. — I suppose you would turn him out of 
the house, where his family have lived for generations. 

Sophie. —And what business had he to come here, 
any way ; courting a married woman. 

Yves. —I didn’t know you Parisians were so scrupu¬ 
lous. 

Sophie. —We are a deal more scrupulous than some 
people who are always boasting up their virtues. 

{Exit Yves angrily.) 


SCENE III. 


Sophie. —But the little Madame is coming from the 
garden ; I hear her light step. 



ACT II. 


31 


(Enter Louise by the window l.f. She wears an elegant 
Directoire house , or reception dress. Large Leghorn hat, 
the strings tied to form a basket , hanging on her arm, 
filled with flowers .) 

Sophie, holding bouquet. — Monsieur de Frontenaec 
begs you will accept these flowers, madame. 

Louise, coldly. — Very well Sophie, give Monsieur de 
Frontenaec my compliments, and thank him for his 
attention. 

(Sophie crosses to l. c., lays flowers on work table, then exit 
by d. 1 .) 


SCENE IV. 

(Louise advances towards table, lays her hat on chair, then 
taking some of the flowers from vase, places one in her 
hair, and replenishes contents from flowers in her hat.) 

Louise.- —All the pretty, delicate flowers are beginning 
to wither; I don’t like these great gaudy artemisias, and 
dahlias. Ah! there are Hector’s flowers, I can not bear 
to see them on this table, it seems like a disloyalty. 
(Tossing bouquet on chair, taking up portrait.) Yes that is 
like him, the laughty air, and the bright dark eyes that 
looked at me so kindly when I appealed to him ; but 
how fiercely they flashed on that cruel Beautemps ; and 
he risked his life to save us; how often grandmamma 
has told me of it ; and if Robespierre had not fallen so 
soon, he might have died for us. My hero! (Looking 
around startled.) Ah ! if anyone were to hear me. I ought 
to be prouder. But I am proud, very proud, when I 
read of his heroism, of all he has braved, and endured. 




32 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


He, so daring; liow strange it is that I should he his 
wife, I who am so timid. Ah! but they deceived me in 
my childhood; the republic for which men do such 
deeds must be a holy thing. But where is my Moni- 
teur; it ought to be here now. ( Picking up paper from 
table r. c.) Ah! here it is. {Reading.) Council of 
Ancients ! Council of Five Hundred! Barras’ ball! I 
don’t want to read that. Ah ! Presentation to the 
Executive Directory, of sixty flags conquered by the 
army of Italy. {Reading.) A crowd of citizens filled the 
windows, and the courtyard of the palace. The horse 
guards were ranged in double hedge around the plat¬ 
form, a band of military music executed popular airs, 
while joy animated all hearts, and shone on all faces. A 
salvo of artillery announced the arrival of the sixty flags 
captured at Mantua, and of the General of Division 
Meunier charged with presenting them. — He in Paris, 
the 10th Vendemaire, and to-day is the 14th. Oh! my 
God! if he were to come here to-day. I who have so 
long wished fgr his coming ; how it affrights.me. What 
will I say to him ? what will he say to me ? Oh ! how it 
affrights me ! 

(Enter Yves, d. r. f. announcing Madame Moreau and 
Monsieur Tabellion . Enter Amelie Moreau, followed by 
Tabellion. Exit Yves. Amelie wears Directoire toilette, 
large bonnet. Tabellion complete Muscadin dress in pale 
colors, huge cravat , long cane, efc.) 


SCENE Y. 

Amelie.— I saw Monsieur Tabellion out on the terrace 
looking as if he would like to come in ; so I brought 
him under my protection. 


ACT II. 


33 


Tabellion.— All ! Mesdames, if it were not for your 
charming kindness, how desolate life would be to me 
here in this dull provincial village. I who was born to 
dream of nothing but the delights, and elegances of 
Paris. 

Louise.— Ah! let us hope, Monsieur Tabellion that 
your zeal in filling your office of public accuser will 
cause the government to reward 3^011 with an appoint¬ 
ment which will restore } r ou to 3 r our beloved Paris. And 
3^ou dear Amelie what gives me the pleasure of your 
company so early ? (Aside.) Oh ! if he were to come 
to-da} r ! 

Amelie. —Oh! I came to tell you the good news. 
Colonel Moreau arrived last night from Laval, where he 
stoj^ped on the wa} r down from Paris, to see after some 
proi)ert3 r of mine, left me by the same kind, old uncle 
from whom I inherited the place down at the end of the 
park, when I came here to live six months ago. You 
may imagine how pleased I was to see Lucien. It is so 
long since we have met. I have been telling him all 
about 3 r ou, and what good friends we are. May I bring 
him up to see you ? 

Louise.—O h ! with so much pleasure I assure you. 
(Aside.) His dearest friend! 

Amelie.— And we can talk our husbands’ campaigns 
over together. 

Tabellion. —Oh! we poor civilians have no chance 
with the ladies, now there are so many soldiers. Our 
only consolation is to try to serve the country, to protect 
it from enemies at home, while the others combat 
abroad. 



34 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE , 


Amelie, gayly. —All! they tell me, Monsieur Tabellion 
that you discovered a terrible conspiracy only last 
week. 

Tabellion. —Ah! ladies do not add to my despair by 
your cruelty. 

Amelie.—A h! yes, do tell us. I am sure common 
report wronged you. 

Louise. —Yes, do tell us, Monsieur Tabellion. 

Tabellion.— Ah! ladies, I am sure you will do me 
justice. Well ! I will begin at the beginning. One 
night last week I was at a little card party at the house 
of Monsieur Forestier, President of the Tribunal. 
You know it is about two kilometers out on the 
Nantes road, but as the night was line, though very 
windy, I thought I would walk into town. Well ! 
nothing very exciting occurred for half a kilometer, but 
just as I was passing the farm of Pierre Couennaec, I 
saw above the hedge, strange figures moving in a field 
of buckwheat. I slipped up on the mound, and peered 
through the hedge, though concealing my person care¬ 
fully, as whatever might be my zeal I could not expect 
to make headway against such odds. 

Amelie.— Of course not, and with your delicate tastes, 
too. 

Louise, kindly. — Continue, Monsieur Tabellion. 

Tabellion, excitedly .—And there they were ! there they 
were ! the accursed conspirators, a whole crowd of them, 
twenty at least, gesticulating wildly with their long thin 
arms. 

Amelie,— And had they all long, thin arms? What a 
strange thing! So many of them too! 


ACT II. 


35 


Tabellion.— And I distinctly beard them whisper in 
ghastly, rustling tones; then one of them uttered a loud, 
hoarse shriek, and I turned, and fled, sure, as I was, that 
they had given the alarm, and that if they captured me; 
the government never would be warned. 

Amelie. — Without counting that you would never live 
to warn it. 

Louise, aside .—Ah ! I wonder if he will come to-day. 

Tabellion.— I have just said so, madame, counting 
the fact that I would not live to warn it. Well! the 
next morning, just after dawn, I went, and woke up 
the Captain of gendarmes, and mighty cross he was too 
about the loss of sleep. 

Amelie.— Of course he was. He doesn't want to go 
to Paris. 

Tabellion.— Well! any way, on hearing my story, he 
promised me the aid of a dozen men to accompany me 
that night to the buckwlieat held, thinking the con¬ 
spirators would have a rendezvous in the same place. 
But when I got there, I thought I’d arrest Couennaec 
first, that he might not warn them; and what do you 
think that shameless scoundrel had the audacitv to 

t/ 

swear ? Why ! that they were not conspirators at all, 
but scarecrows he had placed in the field that very 
morning, and offered to conduct us there to prove it. 

Amelie. —And what did you find, Monsieur Tabellion? 

Tabellion.— Three scarecrows, sure enough, that the 
scamp had placed there, to turn aside suspicion. Who 
ever heard of three scarecrows close together in one 
field. 







36 A RE VOL UT1 ON A R Y MARR1A GE, 

Amelie. —But, ah, Monsieur Tabellion, the crows are 
so bigin Brittany. ( Tabellion rises offended.) 

Louise, to Amelie. —Fie ! fie ! you are cruel, the poor 
fellow! 

Amelie. —But, wliat’s the good of having a little wit, 
if one can’t spend it on fools. 

Enter Yves, announcing. —Monsieur Beautemps. 

(Enter Beautemps. Exit Yves.) 


SCENE YI. 

LOUISE, AMELIE, BEAUTEMPS and TABELLION. 

(Beautemps salutes Louise and Amelie, Tabellion aLo, but 
very slightly.) 

Beautemps. —Salutations, citoyennes, and you citizen 
accuser ; have you discovered no more conspirators ? 
(Aside.) What is the poppinjay doing here at this hour? 

Tabellion. —It is all very well to sneer about it, but I 

i y 

tell you they were conspirators. 

Beautemps.— Ah ! it is not too much zeal for the 
public cause, I shall complain of ; but some people show 
too much watchfulness in small things, and too much 
gull ability in large ones. 

Tabellion. —lam sure I cannot tell what you can 
mean, Monsieur Beautemps. I am sure that can not 
apply to me. 

Beautemps.—I would advise you to send fewer letters 
to Paris, that is all. 



ACT II. 


37 


Amelie.— Oh ! Monsieur Beautemps, why do you 
spoil all our little diversions. I do believe you have 
been unable to enjoy life since Robespierre fell. 

Tabellion. — Oh! Robespierre, that miserable fellow 
who wore a sky blue coat, and a snuff colored pantaloons. 
Such gaudy colors. How can anyone regret his time, 
when they wore small cravats, and no buckles on their 
shoes. 

Beautemps. —Yes, a time when the public accusers of 
the Republic did not consort with returned emigrants. 

Amelie, aside. —Monsieur de Frontenaec! what can he 
mean ? 

Enter Yves, announcing. —Monsieur de Frontenaec. 

Beautemps, aside. — Monsieur de Frontenaec, I believe 
the old scoundrel would have said Marquis, if he had 
dared. 

(Enter Frontenaec , elegant dress of the period, but darker in 

color and less fantastic than that of Tabellion.) 


SCENE Vil. 

BEAUTEMPS, FRONTENAEC, LOUISE, AMELIE 

and TABELLION. 

Frontenaec. —I am delighted to see you, Madame 
Moreau, and you my beautiful cousin, and you also 
Messieurs. (Kisses Amelie’s hand, advances to kiss that of 
Louise , but she steps aside, and points, to a chair.) 



38 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Louise. —Sit down there, cousin Hector, and Monsieur 
Tabellion will tell you all the news. 

Frontenaec. —I am always charmed to be instructed 
by Monsieur Tabellion. 

Beautemps. —She encourages their intimacy. Can it 
be, that she is in the plot, too ? But, no ! that I don’t 
believe. 

Louise, graciously. — Come, Monsieur Beautemps, and 
take a seat by me. 

Beautemps. —Some other time, willingly, citoyenne ; 
but ( looking at Frontenaec), I was not born a nobleman, 
and I can not feign a friendship when I do not feel it. 

(Enter Yves.) 


SCENE VIII. 

YVES, BEAUTEMPS, FRONTENAEC, TABELLION, 

LOUISE, AMELIE. 

Yves.— Madame, Dulac is outside, and says there’s a 
gentleman at Monsieur Beautemps’ house, would like to 
see him. 

Beautemps. —And did he say what kind of a man he 
was? 

Yves. —Oh, yes ; a tall man in a military cloak, just 
come by the Nantes diligence. 

Beautemps. —i must go. Salutations, citoyennes ; I 
regret to leave you, but I am sure there are some here 
who will not miss me {looking at Frontenaec and Tabellion.) 

{Exit Beautemps and Yves.) 


ACT 11 


39 


SCENE IX. 

LOUISE, AMELIE, FRONTENAEC AND TABEL- 

LION. 

Amelie. —Oh ! the sour man ; it gives me a cold chill 
only to look at him ; but I, too, must be off, for it would 
not be right to desert Colonel Moreau, would it, after 
having seen so little of him in these last two years that 
he’s been on the Rhine. Oh ! these wars, these wars. 
But won’t one of you gentlemen give me his arm to aid 
me through those long muddy paths of the park. 
(Aside to Louise.) You poor child I see they bore you 
to death ; your thoughts are far away. 

Tabellion.— Oh ! madame, with the greatest pleasure. 

(Exeunt Amelie and Tabellion.) 


SCENE X. 

LOUISE AND FRONTENAEC. 

Louise. —Why did you not conduct'Madame Moreau 
home ? 

Frontenaec. —Oh ! you are cruel; you cannot bear to 
be one instant alone with me ; with me who adore you. 

Louise. —Do not say such things to me ; I will not 
endure it. 

Frontenaec. —Oh ! you were not always so cruel. Do 
you remember when I used to call you my little wife ; 
you never resented it. 



40 


A RE VOL UT1 ON A R Y MARRIA GE, 


Louise, deliberately arranging flowers. — I was only 
eleven years old, and besides, if I did not resent it, it 
was because I thought it made me appear a young lady. 

Frontenaec, passionately .—And without the revolution, 
you would have been my wife, the wife of one of your 
own race; one of your own caste. Ah ! do not think 
that this accursed state of things shall last forever ; 
when the descendants of great, historical families are 
obliged to flee their native land, tracked like outcasts, 
while the sons of peasants and laborers govern it. 

Louise.— Those who have saved the country from anni¬ 
hilation have a right to govern it. 

Frontenaec. —I did not know your politics were so 
revolutionary. 

Louise.— They are not politics ; they are only senti¬ 
ments ; a woman has no politics. 

Frontenaec. —Oh ! yes she has—the politics of the 
man she loves. 

Louise.— Then my politics should be very lofty, very 
noble and magnanimous, for—for I would not love one 
who was not. 

Frontenaec. —And that I can never be in your eyes, 
have not had the inestimable privilege of being sur¬ 
rounded by a halo of romance. Ah ! my beautiful 
cousin, if you knew how I adore you, you would have 
pity, and treat me more graciously. 

Louise.— Treat you more graciously, willingly, cousin 
Hector, but on one condition—that you promise never 
to speak to me again as you did just now. 

Frontenaec. —Ah! do not bid me give up all hope. 
Ah! do not bid me think that you would take seriously 


ACT II. 


41 


that absurd marriage, which it is evident General Meu- 
nier himself cannot think anything but the merest form; 
he who has not even written 3^011 a word in all these 
years. Ah ! do not bid me think you would consider 
yourself bound to that coarse peasant, that— 

Louise.— Not a word against him; I will not endure it. 

Frontenaec. —And I am not even to be permitted to 
utter a word of persuasion, a word of justification. Ah ! 
that is bitter. There are some men in this world more 
unhappy than they deserve to be, and others over¬ 
whelmed with favors they persistently disregard. 

(Exit Frontenaec.) 


SCENE XI. 

Louise.— Oh! what did he mean?—A marriage which 
General Meunier himself cannot think anything but 
the merest form ; then he taunted me with his not 
having written me a line all these years. Oh! can it be 
true that he—I dare not think of it!—but that cold 
message through Monsieur Beautemps when grand¬ 
mamma died Tell Madame de Frontenaec’s grand¬ 
daughter that many may have loved her grandmother 
more, none could have admired her more than I. Tell 
her to accept from me all that respectful sympathy to 
which she has a right.’’ Madame de Frontenaec’s 
granddaughter ! Did he say that ? Ah! no; it must 
have been that harsh Monsieur Beautemps changed the 
phrase to vex me. 

(Enter Sophie, handing letter on salver.) 




42 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE. 


SCENE XII. 

SOPHIE AND LOUISE. 

Sophie.— Madame, it’s a letter just come from Mon¬ 
sieur Beautemps. 

Louise. — From Monsieur Beautemps. Very well,. 
Sophie. 

(Exit Sophie.) 


SCENE XIII. 

LOUISE. 

Louise.— From Monsieur Beautemps, and there is no 
direction. Oh ! could it be—if this should be his first 
letter, the first letter he has ever written me. Oh! how 
my hand trembles opening it. (Reads.) “ Madame,three 
years ago I pledged myself to release you from bonds, 
which unhappy circumstances seemed to make the only 
course likely to ensure to you and your respected grand, 
mother at once security, and protection. A week later, 
when the news of the fall of Robespierre reached the 
provinces, I was recalled to Paris. Times were still too 
unsettled for me to yet form a decided resolution. It 
was still uncertain whether a nominal marriage to a 
well-known republican, might not be essential to your 
safety. Two weeks later I left for the Army of Italy, 
where arduous duties have since detained me. 

But now that we enjoy the protection of a more lenient, 
though equally firmly republican government, and that 
I for the first time in three years have leisure at my dis¬ 
posal, I come to fulfill that promise so solemnly made, 
and to free you from a position which must be undoubt¬ 
edly an embarrassment and annoyance. 



ACT 11. 


43 


Hoping, madame, you will understand and pardon 
this long delay, I am your servant, 

Gilbert Meunier.” 

Not one word more ! not one! Oh ! how could he do 
it ?—while I—Oh ! my God! ( Weeps hysterically.) Oh ! 

that hateful Hector was right; he never loved me ; he 
has never thought of me, I, who have had no thought, 
no dream all these years, but of his return. (Reading.) 
“ I, who for the first time have leisure at my dis¬ 
posal.” “ To free you from a position which must 
undoubtedly be an embarrassment and annoyance to 
you. Will wait upon you this afternoon.” Oh! but he 
shall not find his portrait here (crossing l. c.) to mock at 
the foolish child who wove such fantastic romances in 
her solitude (lifting portrait from starid). I—but no ! I 
cannot throw it away (looking at picture). Yes! he has a 
very noble face, proud and brave ; and I who have tried 
to be so generous, and so gentle, because he was so 
magnanimous and heroic ; I do not even exist for him— 
but,—but I cannot put his portrait away like that (puts 
portrait in her pocket). 

(Enter Yves d. r.f., announcing General Meunier) 

(Enter Meunier and exit Yves.) 

(Meunier wears the same uniform as that of Bonaparte, in 

the picture by Appiani. 


SCENE XIY. 

MEUNIER AND LOUISE. 

Meunier, after a pause. — To whom have I the honor of 
speaking, madame ? 








44 


A RE VOL UTIONAR Y MARR1A GE, 


Louise, aside. — My God ! lie does not even know me. 
(Aloud.) I—I am Madame de Frontenaec’s grand¬ 
daughter. 

Meunier, aside. —That beautiful woman! (Aloud.) 
Madame, have you received the letter I ventured to send 
you. (Aside.) And can this be that timid child, this 
graceful and self-possessed young creature. 

Louise. —I received the letter, monsieur, and am 
ready to ratify any steps you may see fit to take. 
(Aside.) Ah ! he is not changed at all, but how cold and 
stern he is. 

Meitnier.— I trust } 7 ou will pardon my long delay, 
which believe me, madame, was unavoidable. (Aside.) 
How strangely she looks at me. 

Louise.— I do not doubt it, monsieur. (Aside.) Oh! 
if he knew all my foolish dreams I would die of shame. 

Meunier.— If it had not been for orders I received, 
sending me to the Army of Italy, just three weeks 
after— after the ceremony, I should long since have 
begun the necessary proceedings. 

Louise. —I do not question your impatience at the 
delay, monsieur. 

Meunier.— I pledged my honor to Madame de Fron- 
tenaec, to place no obstacles to the dissolution of a 
marriage, whose onty purpose was to protect you from 
terrible, and immanent danger. 

Louise, aside .—Only purpose. (Aloud.) Believe me, 
monsieur, I am ready to aid you in any arrangements 
you may consider necessary. 



ACT 11 


45 


Meunier, aside. —How difficult it is to say, now I am 
here. How strangely graceful, she is. (Aloud.) The 
formalities are very simple ; mutual consent is all that 
is required. 

Louise, quickly. —And that shall not be wanting in our 
case, monsieur. 

Meunier, aside. —How haughty she is, but how pretty, 
(Aloud.) In our case the family council would be 
dispensed with ; both because it in a case already 
judged, and then I have no living relatives, and you, 
madaine, I believe have none in France. 

Louise. —You are right, the case is already judged ; 
but you are mistaken, monsieur, I have one relative in 
France, my cousin, Monsieur de Frontenaec, has been 
in the chateau for the last three months. 

Meunier, aside. —In the chateau! what can that sujiple 
scoundrel be doing here. (Aloud.) But Monsieur de 
Frontenaec alone does not constitute a family council ; 
and in any case I do not think you would wish to have 
even the appearance of consulting him. 

Louise. —And, why not, monsieur? He is my cousin. ; 
he was even betrothed to me when we were children. 

M uunier. —All! (Aside.) How proudly she defends him. 

Louise. —And, now monsieur, may I ask what you 
propose to do ? 

Meunier. —Oh! the formalities are simple enough to 
satisfy even your impatience madame. A document 
containing a mutual consent to the dissolution of the 
marriage, certified by the proper authorities, and then 
sent to a magistrate, a month later, for confirmation, is 
sufficient to constitute a valid divorce. 


46 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Louise.— A month later ! 

Meunier —And does that seem so short a time to you, 
madam e ? 

Louise. —I but conform to your wishes, monsieur; but 
when the document is drawn up, am I expected to 
sign it ? 

Meunieii. —Such is the custom, madame, but even 
your impatience must brook delays. It is uncertain how 
long a time such proceedings might take. {Aside.) How 
impatient she is to be free. Ah! if that scoundrel— 

Louise. —And when it is drawn up, shall I send for 
it, or could Monsieur de Frontenaec— 

Meunier. —Monsieur de Frontenaec, let him dare.— 
I! I beg your pardon, madame, but— but Monsieur de 
Frontenaec, and I are of different political parties. 

Louise, aside. — He hates even my cousin. (Aloud.) I 
excuse your vehemence, monsieur, it is natural in a 
time of excited politics. 

Meunier. —And I madame, I think I have now told 
you all that is necessary, and so if you would permit me 
to retire. (Aside.) My God! how she tortures me the 
exquisite, cold creature. Oh ! that Frontenaec! 

( Exit Meunier , d. r.f.) 

Louise. —How impatient he was to be gone, and how 
cold and hard he is. All my dreams are dead, he has 
killed them with a cruel hand. Ah! but he shall never 
know what I have suffered ; I shall be prouder than he. 

(Curtain.) 




ACT III. 


SCENE I.—Glade in the Park of Frontenaec. Large trees, 
bouquet of trees in the centre, with stone bench. 

Enter Beautemps, left near the background. — I wonder if 
that idiot Tabellion can be up to any mischief. A nice 
public accuser be is ; a little whipper snapper of a 
Muscadin, like that. But what in the devil can he 
mean, by spending his whole time, lounging around 
with that honey tongued conspirator Frontenaec ; and 
then running every morning to Easpail’s inn, where the 
diligence changes horses ? I asked Raspail what packages 
he took for the citizen Tabellion, and this is what he 
tells me. Nothing, nothing at all citizen Beautemps, 
excepting a letter every morning directed to— Here I 
have it, written down, ( Takes paper from pocket.) that I 
might not forget it. (Reading.) Monsieur Sylvain Per- 
ruqier, barber, 140 rue St. Honore, Paris. What can he 
mean by writing to a barber every day in the week. I 
know he takes precious care of his long hair, but how a 
barber five hundred kilometers away can dress it is 
more than I can see. And Sylvain Perruquier too, that 
is too suspiciously appropriate a name for a barber. A 
real barber would be much more likely to be called 
Casse Brissac, or Montmerency. Ah ! but there they 
come, arm in arm as usual, the public accuser of the 
Bejmblic, and a returned emigrant, what a spectacle ! 
Ah ! but Gracchus Beautemps will keep his eye on them. 

(Enter Tabellion and Frontenaec.) 




48 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


SCENE II. 


BEAUTEMPS, TABELLION and FBONTENAEO. 

(Fronlenaec and Tabellion advance towards foreground. 

Beautemps sealed on stone bench in center.) 

Tabellion. —You can not doubt my zeal in your 
service, Monsieur de Erontenaec; if it were not for your 
charming cousin, and her friend, Madame Moreau. 

Frontenaec, perceiving Beautemps. — Hush! Good day, 
Monsieur Beautemps, you can not doubt my delight at 
meeting you in the Park of Frontenaec. 

Beautemps. —I do not doubt your ever recurring 
delight whenever you see me, but why should I not be 
in the Park of Frontenaec ; it belongs to your cousin, 
the wife of my friend, General Meunier, as you, a 
returned emigrant, have forfeited all right to property 
in France. 

Frontenaec, aside. —Can he suspect anything, the old 
dragon. (Aloud.) My cousin is most honored that you 
should find her park an agreable resort. 

Tabellion, aside to Frontenaec .—Oh ! he is a terrible 
man, but let me propitiate him. (Aloud.') Oh! Monsieur 
Beautemps, I have some important news I will tell you, 
who have such a zeal for the public good. 

Beautemps, dryly .—Some new discovery, some more 
conspirators, citizen Tabellion? 

Tabellion. —Yes, and this time a most important 
discovery, Monsieur Beautemps. Last week, as I was 
down at the inn, where they change horses for the 
diligence, waiting to send an important letter to Paris. 




ACT Ill. 


49 


{Side glance of Frontenaec at Tabellion with warning gesture 
Beau temps watches both closely.) Yes, a letter I send every 
day to my barber in Paris. 

Beautemps. —All! 

Tabellion.— Yes, well while I was waiting, the Nantes 
coach came in, and I made a strange, and important 
discovery. There is concealed under it some dark and 
sinister mystery, I am sure of it. 

Beautemps, aside. —More scarecrows. 

Fuontenaec. — Continue, Monsieur Tabellion, I am 
sure it will deeply interest Monsieur Beautemps. 

Beautemps, aside. —Wants to throw me off the track. 
But, Sylvain Perruquier, I’ll get to the bottom of that. 

Tabellion. —Well, just as the coach stopped I saw 
that fellow Baspail go up to the driver, and hold some 
dark, mysterious converse in deep whispers. The driver 
then drew out a flat box from under the seat, trying to 
conceal it from my vigilance ; for they are all afraid of 
my vigilance down here, Monsieur Beautemps. But I 
was too shrewd for them, and just as that fat fellow 
Raspail, who is slow of movment, was hastening into 
the house, I ran against him, and saw the address on 
the box. It was directed to Marianne Kerouec, Square 
of the Republic, Savenay. Then it emitted such a 
queer smell, just like gunpowder. 

Beautemps. —Marianne Kerouec : that’s the cook of 
the old citoyenne Durand, the motlier-in-law of the 
President of the Tribunal, Forestier. Young man, if 
you want to be promoted, be careful how you interfere 
with your superior’s mother-in-law’s cook. You had 
better drop this affair; that’s all the advice I have to 





50 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


give you. (Aside. ) This chattering poppinjay thinks he 
can turn me off the track. ( Taking out note book , and 
beginning to write , without paying any more apparent attention 
to Tabetlion and Frontenaec.) 

Tabellion. —Ah! we will leave you Monsieur Beau- 
temps. You are in a cross humor to-day, nothing 
propitiates you; not even my zeal for the Republic. 

Frontenaec, to Tabellion , crossing towards the left. —And 
can you, a man of your taste, and refinement, devote 
your whole life to a government of which the sanguin¬ 
ary Robespierre was the personification. 

(Enter Meunier and Moreau, left , nearer the background. 

Both pause and listen to the last words of Frontenaec.) 


SCENE III. 

MEUNIER, MOREAU, FRONTENAEC, BEAUT EMPS 

TABELLION. 

Meunier, advancing. —Robespierre never personified 
the Republic, monsieur Frontenaec, those only can 
personify a cause, who serve it unselfishly. The great 
and magnanimous Danton personified the republic ; the 
egotistical Robespierre never. But what cause have you 
to complain of a government, which gives you even 
impunity to abuse it? 

Frontenaec, — Ah! monsieur Meunier, I have never 
had the pleasure of meeting you before. It is strange 
that we who are so nearly, if so temporally, related, 
should not have met before. 


ACT 111. 


51 


Meunier.— Not at all strange, Monsieur Frontenaec, 
During these three years I have been defending my 
country, while you have been residing among it’s 
enemies. But if I have not before met you, I have at 
least had occasion to read man}^ of your letters, I have 
even kept one as a souvenir of— esteem. 

Moreau, catching Meunders arm. —Hush ! hush ! Look 
at Beau temps. 

Beautemps, who had apparently been absorbed in his booh, 
raises his head quickly and looks at group on the left. —Kept 
one of them! Ah ! 

Frontenaec, recovering himself. — I can not but be 
honored by the esteem of so distinguished a man ; but 
considering the closeness of onr relationship, and also 
considering I am my cousins’s only relative in France ; 
I might be compelled to represent her in discussing the 
delicate matter which has brought you here. Con¬ 
sidering all these things ; though, this park will be 
forever endeared to me as the place of our first con¬ 
versation, yet perhaps, a less open locality might be 
more suitable to its contiuance. So, au revoir, mes¬ 
sieurs. Come, Monsieur Tabellion. 

(Tabellion and Frontenaec cross towards the right. Beau- 

temps rises as they pass, and advances behind them, 

watching them closely.) 

Tabellion, to Frontenaec. — Here is the envelepe, 
Monsieur de Frontenaec. ( Extends envelope. Frontenaec 
takes letter from his pocket, and in endeavoring to slip it in 
hastily, lets envelope fall. Beautemps seizes it.) 

Beautemps, aside. —Sylvain Perruquier, 140 rue St- 
Honore ; I knew it. 



52 


A RE VOL UT1ONAR V MA RRI A GE, 


Frontenaec. —Many thanks, Monsieur Beautemps ; it 
is a communication for Monsieur Tabellion’s barber, 
the best in Paris; which he undertakes to send for me. 

Beautemps. —And you too, get shaved by letter. Take 
care you do not risk getting something beside your 
hair cut off, citizen Frontenaec. 

Frontenaec. —I am sincerely grateful for the interest 
you show in me Monsieur Beautemps. (Aside.) Cursed 
boor. (Aloud.) Come Tabellion. 

(Exeunt Frontenaec and Tabellion.) 


SCENE IV. 

MEUN1ER, MORE AU, BEAUTEMPS. 

Beautemps. —The traitor ; this time I have him. But 
what did Meunier mean ? Kept a letter. There is 
some mystery there. 

(Exit Beautemps.) 


SCENE V. 

MEUNIER AND MOREAU. 

Meunier.— He her representative ! he ! I— 

Moreau. —Control yourself, comrade. You do not 
want more scandal. They are already gossiping enough 
all the country round. You are three years away, and 
when you come home in place of going to your wife’s 
house, you take up your residence in the village. This 
might be rational—might have an explanation—if it were 
in order to obtain a divorce; but no proceedings have 
been begun. 




ACT 111. 


53 


Meunier. — All! I cannot, I cannot cut tlie last thread 
on which hangs a hope. When I came here ten days 
ago, it was but to fulfill a sacred duty—a promise given 
to the dead. I came down here, enervated by sickness, 
with a strange tendency to revery. Those weeks I lay 
in the hospital at Milan were the first pause in my life; 
the first opportunity I have had to stop to think. Ah ! 
they lie who say a man is old at thirty-five. Youth will 
have its revenge, sooner or later. It seems to me I was 
never young before, and when I saw that witching crea¬ 
ture, who treated me with such a haughty grace, all the 
suppressed fire of my youth awoke in my veins, all the 
unsatisfied dreams of my boyhood came to life again, 
and now I, who never loved before, I adore that ideal, 
unapproachable creature. 

Moreau.— But why unapproachable, comrade ? Why 
do you do nothing to win her? Why do you leave that 
soft-voiced scoundrel Frontenaec, up at the chateau, to 
usurp your place ? 

Meunier. —Usurp my place! Do not say that Moreau! 
do not dare to say that ! 

Moreau. —I pity you, comrade ; passion is a terrible 
thing in a heart as energetic and vehement as yours, 
where all the sentiments have been wrought to a frantic 
acuteness by a life of austerity and effort. But believe 
me, I did not mean aught against the lady, who, from 
all m}' wife says, is everything that is good and gentle ; 
but I fear you have mortally wounded her, and those 
doves are sometimes inexorably proud. But tell me, 
why did you not wait till you had seen her first, 
before thinking of a divorce, much less writing that for¬ 
mal letter. 




51 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Meunier. —And liow did I know I should love her, I 
who but remembered her as a delicate, timid child, 
clinging to my hand, and imploring my pity, with her 
sweet voice. Fool jbhat I was, from that hour, that 
sweet voice—those eyes enslaved me. I did not know it 
then. 1 know it now. That strange tenderness that 
drew me to her, and made me ready to die to save her 
an instant’s pain or peril, was more than pity. And I 
who adore her—I have wounded her with my brutal 
folly ; and she will never forgive me, even if she could 
ever have looked upon me in any other light than as an 
intruding stranger. 

Moreau. —If what 1113^ Amelie tells me be true, she 
had much gentler thoughts of 3^011 ; but tell me again, 
what did you sa3 r to her? 

Meunier.— Ah! how do I know. Some foolish talk, 
proceedings, arrangements, documents, and, God par¬ 
don me, divorce; and all the time I was looking at her, 
and under the charm of her witching grace, losiug 
more and more surely eveiy minute, the train of m3 r 
thoughts—the control of n\y reason. 

Moreau. —Ah! Meunier, how could 3 t ou, who are so 
talented have been so foolish ; even if she had been one 
who could only have inspired a friendly respect, to go 
to a beautiful, accomplished and admired young woman, 
and tell her that you have no more pressing anxiet3 r on 
earth than to break the bonds that bind you to her. 
Ah! can you not see the offense was mortal ; the more 
so, as I think she may have nourished for you some 
gentler sentiment, such as 3 r oung girls weave in their 
gossamer dreams. 

Meunier.— Ah! do not sa3^ that; it would be too cruel. 
Ah ! how foolish is a man in love—more glorious than 


ACT 111. 


55 


an emperor in his dreams, more foolish than a silly 
child in his actions. There, when I wander all night 
around the chateau, only to be near her, only to catch a 
glimpse of light from her windows—my dreams soar to 
the grandest heights—a very paradise of passion, and 
poetry opens before me. Then I ask myself why I 
should not enter that charmed dwelling, throw myself 
at her feet, tell her how I idolize her, supplicate her to 
forgive my harsh words. Then I think she may look at 
me with a displeased and haughty air, and bid me be¬ 
gone in her cold, sweet voice. Ah ! then my wings are 
withered, and the springs of my will broken, and I 
could cry like a child for very helplessness. 

Moreau . — Do not despair, comrade ; there is always 
hope for a man like you. But first send that accursed 
Frontenaec away ; it is not seemly that he should be 
there in your wife’s house. You hold him in your 
power absolutely. If they but knew of that letter in 
Paris, his head would fall on the guillotine to-morrow, 
but—Hush ! here comes Beautemps. 

(Enter Beautemps , left.) 


SCENE Y. 

BEAUTEMPS, MEUNIER, MOREAU. 

Beautemps. —The traitor escaped me this time, but I 
count on you, Meunier, to help me trap him. 

Moreau. —What is the matter? 

Meunier. —Beautemps, what excites you so? 

Beautemps. —I have been for a long time suspecting 
that simpleton Tabellion of being a tool in the hands of 
that conspiring villain, Frontenaec. 



56 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Moreau. —And have yon discovered any new proof of 
liis treason, anything that would compel him again to 
leave the country ? 

Beautemps. —If there be still justice in France, it will 
compel him to leave for that land from which no 
traveler returns. I am sure of it, if the matter be 
but sifted to the bottom. Why, I saw him just now 
with my own eyes, slip a sealed letter into an envelope 
in Tabellion’s hands, directed in Tabellion’s writing. 

Moreau.— A queer proceeding, certainly, but did you 
by chance see the address on the envelope. 

Beautemps. —In their guilty haste they let it fall ; you 
may believe I seized it. The address on it was Sylvain 
Perruquier, barber, 140 rue St. Honore. 

Moreau, laughing. — A very simple kind of conspiracy 
I should think, with two men with such long hair. They 
send to Paris to get a new supply of it from time to 
time. But, hold ! the weapon maker where I get my 
swords, is 138 rue St. Honore, and the store on one side 
of his shop is a carpenter’s, that on the other, a grocery. 
To be sure, there’s a fellow called Perruquier lives over 
the carpenter’s shop, but I never heard he was a barber, 
or in any case, not such a one as a muscadin like Fron- 
tenaec would care to deal with. 

Beautemps. —I knew it, and he said the best barber in 
Par is. Oh ! the case is plain, there is some dark, diabol¬ 
ical mystery under all this. But the question is to 
prove it; for the government we have now requires all 
kinds of proofs before condemning a man to death. 
And it is you, and Meunier whom I expect to aid me. 

Moreau. —Faith, I am entirely at your service. I 
despise the fellow as much as you do, Beautemps, and 


ACT III. 


57 


would be just as glad to see him out of the country. So 
only tell me what I can do to compass that end, and I 
am at your service, and that with a good will too. 

Beautemps. —I have always thought there was some¬ 
thing strange about that affair three years ago; though 
I feel differently about some things now. I have since 
learned that the old marquise was very kind to the 
country people, and worked no active mischief, and the 
little girl was pretty enough to tenqit a young man like 
Meunier; so if he concealed anything then, to serve 
them, I can hardly blame him. But times are changed 
now, the old woman is dead, and the granddaughter is 
his wife, what further reason can there be to hide it 
now. 

Moreau. —And what makes you think there was any¬ 
thing concealed from you ? 

Beautemps. —I did not believe then, I do not believe 
now that Gilbert Meunier would have married a woman 
guilty of treason, but I repeat it there would be no 
danger now to him, or his wife, if the head of Hector 
Honore Frontenaec fell on the scaffold to-morrow. 

Meunier, who has been seated, rising, and crossing towards 
Beautemps and Moreau .—But there would be danger to 
my self respect, if I could strike that mean, and under¬ 
hand blow, and then,—then there would be danger of 
grief to she who is his cousin. 

Beautemps. —And your wife ! 

Meunier .—A reason more why he should be pro¬ 
tected. 

Beautemps. —Protected ! Do you know what they say 
in the country ? 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


58 


Meunier. —And what do they say? What do they dare 
to say? 

Moreau. —Silence Beautemps ! Not a word more. 

Beautemps.— Yes, I will speak, it is time the truth 
should be known. They say that Frontenaec loves your 
wife, and— 

Meunier. — And— what other infamy, continue, 
monsieur. 

Beautemps. —And that she is not indifferent to him ; 
now will you give up that letter, 3^011 taunted Fronte¬ 
naec with. 

Meunier, fiercely. — Never! never! do you hear me! 
Not while Gilbert Meunier lives to defend it. As long 
as there remain straight roads to vengeance, I shall 
never take crooked ones. But your lie, your infamous 
lie about her, I do not believe it, she is purer, holier 
than the angels; and he who dares to breathe but a 
whisper against her shall count with me. 

Beautemps.— I have no desire to quarrel with you 
Meunier; it is but in your interest that I speak. As you 
do not seem in a humour to listen to reason to-day I 
shall leave you till another time. 

(Exit Beautemps.) 


SCENE YI. 

MEUNIEK and MOREAU. 

Meunier. —Oh! that Frontenaec. I will kill him, I 
will kill him Moreau. Even Beautemps dared to say he 
loved her ; dared to look his passion so plainly, that all 
the world could see it. Oh ! that Frontenaec ; my God! 
how I hate him. 


ACT 111. 


59 

Moreau.— And yet you held liis life in your power, 
and let him .escape—nay even defended him. 

Meunier.— It is my habit to strike my foes in the 
breast, not to stab them in the back. 


( Curtain .) 


ACT IV. 


(Same as Act II.) 


SCENE I. 

Sophie, bustling about, arranging articles .—Oli! but this 
is a strange world. There's the little madame was crazy 
about her general, while he was away ; and now he has 
come back, they do not even speak. Leastwise he goes 
down, and lodges in the village at that cross Monsieur 
Beautemp’s, and never comes up here but once, and 
that for a mighty short visit. Ah ! I don’t know what 
can be the matter, unless it is that married couples are 
only really fond of one another when they are separated, 
by three or four hundred kilometers. And the little 
madame, so changed too, so cold and haughty, not 
gentle and talkative as she used to be. Ah ! if that’s 
the way all the marriages turn out, my faith, I’d better 
remain single myself, and avoid that great skulking 
fellow of a Bienvenu,when he comes dandling around, at 
all hours, and all times. How queer it was I should meet 
him the other day when I was down in the village, and 
after all these years too; and he says he is General 
Meunier’s orderly now. How queer things do turn out. 
(Noise of heavy steps outside.) Ah! there is some one 
coming, 1 wonder who it can be. 

(Enter Bienvenu , uniform of the period.) 


ACT IV. 


61 


SCENE II. 

SOPHIE AND BIENVENU. 

Sophie —Is that you, Bonaventure ? Well! if you 
haven’t brass, to present yourself in this way in 
madame’s boudoir, without so much as asking permis¬ 
sion. 

Bienvenu. —Oh ! but I have a good excuse ; here’s a 
note from my general. 

Sophie. —It is well, at least, that he writes her a note. 
A nice kind of husband he is, your general, anyway! 

Bienvenu. — Don’t you say a word against him, 
Madamoiselle Sophie Thibaudin. He’s as good as gold; 
besides it shows a want of common sense on your part. 
Don’t everybody know that when there’s trouble be¬ 
tween married people, it’s always the wife who is can¬ 
tankerous ? 

Sophie. —Much obliged to you, Monsieur Bonaventure 
Bienvenu. It is to be hoped you know more about 
matrimony than you do about military affairs. Here 
you are only a sergeant, when everybody else is 
coming home a general. 

Bienvenu. —Not everybody, Madamoiselle Sophie ; 
save your respect ; there are still some soldiers left. 

Sophie. —And you were sure to be one of them. 

Bienvenu. —And haven’t you a nobleman from down 
here who won’t be anything but a grenadier. I didn t 
want to put on more airs than he. 

Sophie. —Ah! I know why they didn’t make you an 
officer ; it is because you can’t read nor write. 


62 


A RE VOL UTIONAR Y MA RRIA GE, 


Bienvenu. —And what good would reading or writing 
be to a fighting man ; fencing and firing would be a 
deal more sensible and civilized. But you are very 
much mistaken in thinking I did not distinguish myself, 
too. 

Sophie. —And pray where was it ? 

Bienvenu. —It was at the battle of Castiglione ; and 
they wanted to promote me and make me an officer, but 
didn’t for the little reason you mentioned. But the 
general-in-chief heard of my exploits, and sent for me 
himself. And there he was, the great General Bona¬ 
parte, with all his glittering staff standing round ; and 
he sitting under a big tree on a pile of saddles, before 
an old wine cask, taking his dinner off an Italian muss 
of macaroni and cheese, and another Italian muss of 
rice. And so he sa} r s to me, just like that, “ Bienvenu 
my brave fellow, what can I do for you? ’’ and I, who 
had not tasted a bite for twenty-four hours, and at the 
sight and smell of the victuals felt my stomach going 
down to my heels, I said right up and down, “If it’s all 
the same to you, citizen general, you’ud give me some 
of your dinner, and if you’ud let me sit right down at 
the cask without waiting, I could say I had had the 
honor of dining with the greatest man in Europe.’’ The 
general laughed, and then he says, with that grand air 
of his, “ Very well, citizen sergeant, squat down and 
fall to on the grub.” And so I sat down on the end of 
a canteen, though it was rather a small seat for a man 
of my proportions. But didn’t I devour the victuals, 
and the general all the time saying “ Take this, take 
that,” and all the aides de camp standing around star¬ 
ing, and that jolly General Lannes holding his sides for 
laughter. 


ACT IV. 


63 


Sophie.— You don’t suppose I believe a word of your 
gasconading trooper’s stories. 

Bienvenu.— But it's true; just as true as that you have 
the most beautiful eyes in the world, and that I adore 
you. ( Tries to kiss Sophie, who slaps him soundly on the 
face.) 

Sophie.— You don’t suppose an honest girl is going to 
let herself be kissed by a wandering vagabond like you, 
who never stays long enough in any one place to take 
her before the mayor, much less to a church! 

(Exit Sophie .) 

Bienvenu. —There! she is gone, and I don’t know but 
there’s some truth in what she says, and—but it might 
be better to settle down in some nice comfortable nest 
with a pretty wife like that, than to be knocking around 
the world all one’s life, pummeling and getting pum- 
meled fobbing his cheek). Ugh! but I am sure she’d 
make a good wife, she strikes such a straight blow. But 
there, I’ll go after her, for I hear some one coming. 

(Exit Bienvenu.) 


SCENE III. 

{Enter Louise by window l.f ., crosses to r. c., removes her 
hat and throws d on table.) 

Louise,— Not one word from him in ten days. He 
does not even treat me with the respect due to a woman. 
Oh! what a child I was ; in what a dream world I have 
lived ; and yet I was so happy, so happy. I would never 
have wished for anything more—anything more real or 
tangible affrighted me. I have never done anything 


64 


A RE VOL UT1 ON A RY MARR1A GE, 


wicked that I should be so cruelly punished. Why did 
he ever come here and act so hardly, so distantly, so 
contemptuously to me. ( Weeping.) I, who always 
thought of him as he looked that day so long ago, so 
kind and gentle, and yet so proud and so brave. Ah • 
what have I ever done to him, that he should hate me ; 
speak with such contempt even of Hector, because he 
is my cousin. Ah ! he did not tell the truth when he 
said they hated each other, because they were of differ¬ 
ent political parties. (Looking over books on table.) Ah ! 
there is nothing there I would care to read. I do not 
read anything now, only wander aimlessly about. It 
seems to me I am losing all the poor intellegence I once 
had. (Looking at salver on end of table.) But there are 
the letters. Only one this morning. Let me see who 
remembers me. Ah! (looking at address.) Madame 
Meunier. What a strange mockery it seems now, Ah! 
but it is his handwriting. The documents, I suppose. 
He sends them to me, he could not even bring them. 
(Opens letter feverishly and 7 'eads.) 

Madame, 

Trusting to your gracious kindness to receive me I 
will presume to present myself at the chateau this 
afternoon. 

Gilbert Meunier. 

He will bring them then, himself. (Beading.) Gracious 
kindness. Ah ! he is happy in the prospect of his 
release ; and then he will go away to Paris, away to the 
war again, and get wounded, perhaps get killed ! Oh! 
my God! what a sad, and meaningless thing life is. 
And I was so happy only last week. If I could only die; 
it is the thought of living long, long dull years that is 
so horrible. Oh ! that terrible scar on his forehead. If 


ACT IV. 


65 


lie were to be killed, and this was to be our last meet¬ 
ing. How cruelly practical, and hard he was ; how he 
ignored all my fantastic girlish fancies ; and if he saw 
me now, how he would mock at me, perhaps despise 
me. That he shall never do. What if I should have 
betrayed my pain, my disappointment to him. How the 
thought stings. But he shall not know it, no one shall 
ever know it. 

Enter Yves, announcing. — Madame Moreau. 

{Enter Amelie, exit Yves.) 


SCENE IY. 

AMELIE and LOUISE. 

Amelie, kissing Louise. — Why are you so cold to me, 
my dear. I am sure we have no cause to quarrel. Oh! 
these husbands, these husbands. There’s that Meunier, 
who after three years’ absence comes down here, and 
you have some kind of a quarrel, and he goes wandering 
around, looking like a black thunder cloud. Now if you 
will take my advice, my dear, you will punish him ; for 
he has been in the wrong, I am sure he has ; the men 
always are ; but then afterwards j r ou will forgive him, 
for he looks so very unhappy. 

Louise. —You are wrong Amelie to think I would 
have any influence on General Meunier’s happiness or 
unhappiness. He has come down here to dissolve the 
marriage, which you know,— which we all know was a 
mere formality. He says it is only neccessary to sign a 
document saying we both consent to it, both wish it, 
and send it to a magistrate,— and that makes a valid 
divorce. 



66 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Amelie. —He said that, did he ? The heartless monster, 
the good for nothing, unfeeling brute. Excuse me 
Louise, but when my feelings overcome me, I can’t help 
expressing them plainly. And that foolish Moreau is so 
devoted to him; intelligent as he is, I don’t see how he 
can be so deceived. 

Louise. —General Meunier has a perfect right to 
adopt the proceeding which seems to him the best, and 
I am sure we have never expected, never wished for 
anything else. 

Amelie. —We,— hem ! (Aside.) But there is some 
mystery here, something inexplicable. (Aloud.) But 
when are these pretty proceedings to be consummated. 

Louise.— I received a note this morning from General 
Meunier, telling me he would come to the chateau this 
afternoon; presumably to bring the papers. 

Amelie —Will you let me see the note ? 

Louise. —Willingly. (Handing note.) 

Amelie, reading. —Madame!— a pretty w ay to address 
one’s wife in a letter ; gracious kindness, hem !—Signed 
Gilbert Meunier. Well it must be confessed General 
Meunier writes with a military brevity. (Aside.) I don’t 
understand it at all. 

Louise. —And are more phrases required in so simple, 
and so formal a matter. 

Amelie, aside. —She is nervous, and concealing some 
miserable secret under her cold air. (Aloud.) But let us 
leave these serious things. Have you heard the latest 
news, Monsieur Tabellion has made a new discovery. 
You poor child, you look as if you needed something 
to cheer you up. So you shall hear it. 


ACT IV. 


67 


Louise.—I am sure I shall enjoy it, if it is funny. 

Amelie, aside. — The poor child, what a fib. (Aloud.) 
You know how vigilant that poor Monsieur Tabellion is, 
how anxious for the public safety, how continually on 
the hunt he is for some dark, and dangerous con¬ 
spiracy. Well! he was hanging around Raspail’s inn 
about a week ago, on the search for something im¬ 
portant, and he though he had found it, when the 
Nantes coach came in; and he saw the driver hand that 
fat Rasp ail, some kind of a box, which he says emitted 
a most singular odor, and no wonder; wait till you 
hear the rest of the story. 

Louise.— Go on, it is very amusing. (Aside.) I hope 
she does not think I am sad, or nervous. 

Amelie. —The enterprising Tabellion; would you have 
even thought he had so much boldness, ran agains^ 
Raspail, and saw the address on the box. So he went, 
and warned the authorities of his great discovery, and 
they called the jury necessary under the present law 
to decide on the validity of an accusation. Are you 
listening dear ? 

Louise. —Yes, I am listening most attentively. 

Amelie. —Well, when the jury was all assembled, they 
laid before them a second box, which the vigilant 
Tabellion had mean time seized. It was directed to 
old Marianne Kerouec, the cook of Madame Durand, 
the President of the Tribunal’s mother-in-law. Well! 
when the box was opened, after all due precaution 
against possible danger from the gunpowder Tabellion 
has smelt, they found what do you think,— a half- 
dozen large cakes of fresh cheese. 


Louise. —Cheese ! 


68 


A REVOLUTONARY MARRIAGE, 


Amelie. —Yes, cheese, and a sealed letter on top for 
old Madame Durand. This dangerous document was 
opened, as it might give a clue to the mystery. It was 
from madame Forestier telling her mother that she 
took this round-about way of sending delicacies in order 
to avoid the octroi duties, and hoping that her mother 
would be as much pleased with the cheese, as she had 
been with the partridges. That poor Tabellion, I could 
die of laughter, cheese and partridges, and he so fond 
of sweet odors. And without counting that this fine 
expose has irremediably embroiled him with his sup¬ 
erior, and spoiled all his chances of promotion. 

Louise. —Poor Monsieur Tabellion. 

Amelie — There now, I hope I have amused you, 
though I will tell you a secret. I am but half gay 
myself, when I think of many things. Ah! do not be 
offended, my dear, I do not wish to hurt you. But there 
is some dark mystery in all this ; some danger threat¬ 
ening. Your cousin’s name is never mentioned in 
General Meunier’s presence, but his eyes flash, and he 
looks fierce,— so fierce. Ah! if I were Monsieur de 

Frontenaec I should be afraid. 

Louise. —Monsieur de Frontenaec is able to defend 
himself, unless General Meunier should take advantage 
of his superior physical strength, a nobleman cannot 
be expected to be as strong as a peasant. 

Amelie. —Ah ! there now you are cruel, Louise ; you 
know I came from the small bourgeoisie of Paris, where 
my parents kept a little shop before the revolution. But 
surely you will acknowledge that General Meunier is 
the superior of Monsieur de Frontenaec, in intellect, in 
energy, in present position, in everything. 



ACT IV. 


69 


Louise. — Forgive me Amelie, I did not mean to 
wound you ; but what is General Meunier, and his 
merits to me ? 

Amelie.— But what is the cause of his dislike for your 
cousin ? 

Louise. —Because he is my cousin. Because he hates 
me. I suppose. 

Amelie. —Hates you, the fine idea! Are you sure it is 
hatred or jealousy. And now, goodbye my dear ; let 
us hope this miserable affair will come out all right. For 
it is all wrong, my dear, all wrong. 

(Exit Amelie.) 


SCENE V. 

LOUISE. 

Louise. —If there should be truth in what she says, 
jealousy ! Ah ! if I could only think it. 

Enter Yves, after looking around and seeing no one but 
Louise. —Monsieur le Marquis. 

(Enter Frontenaec, exit Yves.) 


SCENE VI. 

Frontenaec, coming down center , kisses Louise's hand. 
—Ah ! my beautiful cousin, every day you grow more 
adorable, and more adored. 

Louise. —Cousin Hector, why will you always pay me 
such tedious compliments. One would think such 
affectations might be dropped between relatives. 




70 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Frontenaec. —Relatives, all! you are cruel. And since 
when lias it been forbidden a cousin to love his cousin, 
nay to adore her. 

Louise.— How many times have I told you Hector, 
that I did not want you to speak to me in that way. 

Frontenaec. —And can it be still the thought of that 
absurd marriage which binds you. General Meunier 
is not so scrupulous. 

Louise. —Not a word against him, monsieur ! ( Pauses 
■confused.) How!—how can you judge him, when you 
have not even met him ? 

Frontenaec. —Oh! yes and a very disagreable meeting 
it was too; where he taunted me with possessing a letter 
of mine which he said put me in his power. 

Louise.— Did he say that? Did he say that mean, and 
cowardly thing ? 

Frontenaec. —Ah! you see these peasants will never 
be able to comprehend the lofty delicacy of sentiment, 
which characterizes the nobility alone. Ah ! my cousin, 
my adored cousin, dissolve this fatal marriage that you 
may replace it by an alliance better suited to your birth, 
and beauty, that will give you again the right to bear 
the noble name you have discarded, and make of me the 
happiest of men, the most— 

E?iter Yves, announcing .—General Meunier. 

{Enter Meunier, exit Yves.) 

SCENE VII. 

MEUNEIR, LOUISE and FRONTENAEC. 

Frontenaec still leaning over the back of sofa where Louise 

is seated.) 



ACT IV. 


71 


Meunier, aside .—He here; and in that lover’s attitude. 
{Aloud ) Madame, having received no answer to my 
note, I presumed to consider your gracious permission 
accorded; but I will confess I counted on an interview 
without the presence of one who can not, and should 
not have any interest in our affairs. 

Frontenaec, to Louise. — Shall I remain, my fair cousin? 

Louise.— Remain, Hector, I desire it, and you mon¬ 
sieur, you may freely discuss any matter in the presence 
of my only near relative ; the only one in France to 
whom I am in an } 7 degree related. 

Meunier, aside .—The only one ! {Aloud.) I thought, 
madame, there were some insults calculated to efface 
even the nearest relationship. 

Frontenaec.— Monsieur. {Ad nances threateningly from 
behind the sofa.) 

Meunier. —The man who could invite his nearest 
relatives, refined, and noble women, to assume a role, 
pah ! I will not insult this lady by defining it. 

Frontenaec. —Is only equaled by the man who to 
remove a supposed rival from his path, would basely 
betray family secrets which had fallen in his power, by 
the merest chance, or a sad necessity. 

Meunier.— You judge me by yourself, Monsieur Fron¬ 
tenaec. It is not surprising that the man who has 
betrayed his country, should suspect others of betraying 
their pride and their honor. 

Frontenaec. —It is not the custom in the society in 
w 7 hicli I was born to settle disputes in the presence of 
ladies. 


72 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Meunier. —And in tlie society in which I have lived, it 
is not the custom to shrink from responsabilities, or to 
protect one’s timidity behind pretexts, even the most 
tempting. 

Frontenaec.— 1 can not expect to make yon under¬ 
stand, monsieur, shades of delicacy necessarily incomp¬ 
rehensible to you. 

Meunier. —But there is a language all men understand 
Monsieur Frontenaec, and which perhaps even you may 
not refuse to comprehend, ( Striking Frontenaec across 
the face with his chamois gauntlet.) and which may perhaps 
cure you of your ardor for peace and security. 

Frontenaec. —You shall have satisfaction, and give it 
to me, also, monsieur. 

Louise, aside. —Oh! my God! 

Meunier. —Very well, monsieur ; 1 shall be at your 
service at seven o’clock to-morrow morning in the glade 
at the end of the park. 

Frontenaec. —At eleven o’clock, rather, monsieur ; I 
am not accustomed to rise at such early hours. 

Meunier. —If your honor can suffer the delay ; I shall 
curb my impatience into submission. 

Frontenaec. —Till the pleasure of our next meeting, 
monsieur {salutesprofoundly ; Meunier responds slightly). 

(Exit Frontenaec , d. *\f.) 

Meunier, glancing towards Louise. —Not a word ! not a 
glance. (Exit Meunier, slowly.) 

SCENE VIII. 

LOUISE. 

Louise, rises and crosses towards center, as if to follow 
them. —Oh ! Hector will kill him ; and I—I am the mis¬ 
erable cause (faints'). (Curtain.) 



ACT Y. 


{Same as Act III .) 

SCENE I. 

Beautemps, entering /.—And so that romantic madman, 
Meunier, still refuses to give me the letter. Nevermind, 
I shall trap him without it. I shall write to the author, 
jties in Paris to have that house in the Rue St. Honore 
searched, and we shall see if my fine Muscadin will be 
allowed to parade his insolence around this country any 
longer, conspiring under the very nose of Gracchus 
Beautemps. Not that I think he is of a caliber to w T ork 
much mischief. And maybe I would not consider the 
clue worth pursuing if he were to leave the country. 
And that little fool, Tabellion, too ; a nice public 
accuser he is, with his cheese and his partridges and 
his scarecrows, lending his official name to facilitate the 
very correspondence of the conspirators. But that 
miserable dandy of a Frontenaec, what business has he 
here, making love to a patriot’s wife, too. He shall 
either leave, and that quickly, or I will see he is sent to 
a safe place. 


{Enter Moreau , left.) 


74 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


SCENE II. 

MOREAU AND BEAUTEMPS. 

Moreau. —Have you seen anything strange about 
Meunier this morning ? 

Beautemps. — Nothing specially strange, excepting 
that everything he does is strange. What kind of a life 
is that he leads, staying up all night wandering around 
the country, and coming in in the morning with his 
clothes covered with dew, and a haggard face, looking 
as if he had seen ghosts. It is worse than winter cam¬ 
paigning ; no man could stand it. But, hold ! there is 
something strange. He always comes in towards five 
o’clock ; I know it, for I am an early riser, and this 
morning he was not in when I left the house, and 
(looking at his watch) it is now half-past six. 

Moreau. —But he has been to see me, and behaved so 
strangely, and gave me this letter for Madame Meunier, 
saying she might not like to see him after what was 
about to occur. Can you give me any clue to the 
mystery ? 

Beautemps,— I don’t know; some fuss with that cursed 
Erontenaec, I suppose. 

_ S 

Moreau. —My faith ! I believe you are right. 

Beautemps. —By twelve o’clock, because she will hear 
the news before. Ah ! I have it. A duel, such as they 
used to have in the olden times, when family questions 
were involved, A duel to the death, without witnesses, 
in which he will kill that scoundrel Frontenaec. Oh ? I 
am devilish glad to hear it. I knew Meunier would 
show the proper spirit, for all his preaching, and he the 
best swordsman in the armv. Oh ! that Frontenaec is a 


ACT V. 


75 


dead man (rubbing his hands with glee). Why, I have 
not been so happy in years. I feel as if 1 were already 
attending his funeral. 

Moreau.— But what will become of my poor friend’s 
happiness. How will the woman he adores receive him 
when he goes to her with hands stained with the blood 
of her cousin ? 

Beautemps. —Pooh! pooh! A woman never likes a 
man the less for a little bloodshed. A lover is a thou¬ 
sand times endeared to her when he has slaughtered 
two or three fellows on account of her. 

Moreau.— Poor Meunier ! 

Beautemps.— Ha ! ha! tight a duel with Meunier, in¬ 
deed ! that dandy. Oh! he is a dead man. This is the 
best news I have had in years. I will go and see what 
I can learn about it. 

(Exit Beautemps , /.) 


SCENE III 

Moreau.— Ah! there is no aid to be expected from 
that madman ; and to think he is a good man in private 
life, too. Ah! there are some men on whom politics 
act like the virus of a mad dog. My poor comrade, his 
wild, jealous heart has wrecked all his hopes. And that 
poor little Louise, too ; too proud to intervene, quit to 
break her heart about it afterwards. He said twelve 
o’clock ; in that case the duel must take place some 
time before. There may be time to do something yet. 
Let me think. 


(Enter Amelie, left.) 



76 


A RE VOL UT10NA R Y MA RRIA GE, 


SCENE IY. 

i 

MOREAU AND AMELIE. 

Amelie.— All! Lucien, wliat a man you are ; to run 
away from me like that, and just when I had made a 
discovery, too. 

Moreau.— And what is it—your famous discovery. It 
must be something wonderful, to have brought you out 
so early. 

Amelie.— And so it is, monsieur. Ah! be on your 
guard ; there is no punishment too severe for a man 
who tries to keep a secret from his wife. And then it 
is such a silly waste of ingenuity, for she is sure to find 
it out. 

Moreau.— And what is it—that famous secret I have 
been keeping from you, my little Amelie. 

Amelie. —And do you suppose, stupid man that you 
are, that I have not seen this long time, that you and 
Meunier have some dark, mysterious secret. 

Moreau. —Ah! poor Meunier; his secret is simple 
enough. He adores his wife, and he has mortally 
offended her. 

Amelie.— Ah! I have more than half suspected it. 
The poor fellow. And such a pretty love story, so 
romantic and improbable, to be spoilt like that. All for 
nothing, for a mere whim, a caprice, the misunder¬ 
standing of two big children. But I shall put it all 
right. I shall go to see Louise. Yes, this very minute, 
even if I have to wake her up to do it. 

Moreau. —But stop, my kind-hearted little wife ; there 
is something far more serious. Meunier and Fronte- 


ACT V. 


77 


naec are to fight this morning, some time before twelve 
o’clock. 

Amelie.— Oh! the great, blundering fellow, to wreck 
things ]ike that. Oh ! was there ever anything as awk¬ 
ward as a man, It takes all the wits we poor women 
have to set your blunders right. 

Moreau.— Ah! my good, little Amelie, if your wits 
could only help us now. But I can see no escape. 
Meunier will not retreat ; in the wild passion of his 
energetic and combative nature, he will find a fierce joy 
in killing his rival, even if it wrecks his own life ; and as 
to Frontenaec, I cannot see any hope there, either. 

Amelie.— But have you no hold upon him, that Fron¬ 
tenaec ; no means of frightening him into submission ; 
of making him leave the country before the duel takes 
place. And yet Monsieur Beautemps talks all the time 
about his conspiracies and the letters he sends to Paris 

Moreau. —Letters. Ah! that letter Meunier has would 
frighten him a thousand times more than any Beau- 
temps will ever lay hands on. 

Amelie.— Letter ! what letter? Oh! you wretched 
man, you keep all your secrets from me. 

Moreau.— Not my own ; that was my friend’s. It is 
a letter which Meunier found at the chateau three 
years ago at the time of the wedding, and that he 
kept, thinking it contained information on which the 
national salvation might depend. A letter from Hector 
de Frontenaec to his grandmother, inviting her to join 
him in treasonable projects, and telling her of his 
intended landing with the enemy’s army on the coast 
of Brittany. 


78 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


Amelie. —And could anything better be wanted £ 
Go! go quickly, find him, and tell him you have the 
letter. Don’t mind fibs ; no fibs would cause me one 
qualm of conscience in so good a cause. Besides, 
no kind-hearted woman minds fibs, anyway. Go tell 
him you have it and will give him up to the authorities 
cliis very morning, unless he leaves the country instantly 
and avoids every quarrel with Meunier. 

Moreau. —And what good would it do, my poor 
Amelie. These aristocrats have many faults, but 
cowardice is not one of them. They are all brave, or 
like to be thought so ; and pride itself would forbid him 
to retreat under such a threat. 

Amelie. —But, come ! come ! There’s no time to lose, 
I think I can frighten braver men than he. Besides a 
soldier’s wife should not be afraid to attack a position 
in front. Come ! come ! 

( Exeunt Amelie and Moreau r. lstg.J 


SCENE Y. 

(Enter Louise , r. 3rd g.) 

Louise. —And I have tried so to hasten, and yet had 
to stop every minute to keep from fainting. Oh ! how 
I prayed, only to have strength to come. I will see him, 
I will tell him everything. I will tell him how T I have 
loved him, liow I have dreamt of him all these years. I 
will implore him, I will supplicate him not to risk his 
life. Oh ! surely, he will be too magnanimous to break 
my heart. Oh I will not think of pride, or humiliation ; 
he may even despise me if he likes. But there is some 
one coming. Oh! it is he, it is he, and now I dare not 





ACT V. 


79 


speak; I dare not say anything. All my courage lias 
left me. Oh! what it is to be such a coward, and yet to 
suffer so. What it is to be a woman, and helpless. ( sinks 
on stone bench in center.) 

SCENE VI. 

LOUISE and MEUNIER. 

(Enter Meunier , 3rd g. /., at first not perceiving her comes 

down at 1.) 

Meunier. —And she defended him, took his part 
against me; spoke of him as the only being who was 
anything to her. And for me she had not a word of 
compassion, not a glance of pity; though she must have 
seen the tempest of anguish which raged in my soul. 
Ah! I shall have one happiness, if one alone, before I 
die; it will be to pierce his traitor’s heart. (Perceiving 
Louise. ) Ah ! madame, you here! your cousin’s life must 
be very precious to bring you out in the forest so early 
this damp morning. But, believe me, he guards his 
person much more carefully than you do yours. Even 
the memory of an insult which a less polished, or a 
prouder man, would have deemed occasion for imme¬ 
diate resentment, will not deprive him of one minute of 
his accustomed rest. 

Louise. —Oh! surely, surely, Monsieur, you will not 
fight this wicked, cruel duel. Oh! if you only knew 
what I have suffered. 

Meunier. —And do you suppose the thought of the 
suffering you have endured for him, will whet my com¬ 
passion. Have you not humiliated me enough with your 
merciless disdain, the haughty contempt with which 
you ignored me in his presence ? 


80 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE , 


Louise, aside. —Oil! if Amelie should be right, if he 
should be jealous; to know that, and then to lose him. 
My God! have pity. ( Aloud .) What can I say to move 
you monsieur; if you only knew all my thoughts, all my 
dreams. 

Meunier. —Ah! you would tell me them. Spare me 
that. I do not need to know them. I know that as 
soon as the law shall release you from hated bonds ; 
from a name which in your aristocratic pride, you deem 
a degradation ; you will hasten to wash off the stain by 
more suitable, more becoming nuptials. 

Louise, aside. —Oh! if he should be jealous. (Aloud.) 
And what marriage is that which would be deemed so 
honorable, and becoming ? 

Meunier. —And have you the heart to ask me that, ask 
me who adore you; every fibre whose being thrills with 
anguish at the thought of losing you? But that shall 
not be, I swear it. I cannot compel you to be mine ; 
I cannot force you into a union which is hateful to 3^011; 
but his you shall never be ; I swear it. No man with 
blood in his veins, and a heart in his breast could be 
asked to endure that. All night long I have thought 
with a fierce delight of the hour which would place us 
face to face; not because he was a vile traitor to his 
country in her hour of need, not because he was the 
base insulter of a noble woman who had every right to 
his reverence ; not even because he outraged your 
young beauty with words whose infamy you could not 
even comprehend. No ! for all these things I despise 
him; but it is because you love him, that I hate him ; 
and I will kill him, madame; do you hear me, I will 
kill him. 


ACT V 


81 


Louise. —No, you will not kill him, because I despise 
him; because I love you, Gilbert; because I have loved 
you for years, ever since that day so long ago, when 
you talked to me so gently, and defended me so proudly. 
In all these years, I have thought of nothing, dreamed 
of nothing but 3 r ou. 

Meunier. —Thought of me, dreamed of me, my fairy 
of paradise. 

Louise. —And of what else should I think; of what 
else should I dream, but of he whose heroism had 
given wings to my soul. Poor wings how rudely they 
were broken, when you wrote me that cold, hard 
letter, and treated me so like a stranger. I, a stranger 
to you, Gilbert, I, whose spirit has been with you on 
every battlefield in every trial, and every suffering of 
these long, glorious years. Oh! how could you be so 
cruel to me, Gibert, how could you be so cruel ? 

Meunier. —I cruel to you! Oh! my angel. I could 
kiss the dust at your feet. Oh! what have I ever done, 
to what have I ever aspired, that I should be so happy. 

(Enter, r. Amelie, Moreau and Frontena.ee.) 


SCENE VII. 

Amelie, perceiving Meunier and Louise, who do not see 

her .—Hush ? 

(Enter Taheliion hastily left, followed by Beautemps. 

Tabellion. —Ladies, ladies, I wanted to be the first to 
tell you the news. Peace has been signed at Campo 
Formio. 


A REVOLUTIONARY MARRIAGE, 


82 


Amelie, pointing to Meunier and Louise .— And ratified 
at Frontenaec. 

Moreau.— Now, Monsieur de Frontenaec, are you 
willing to leave ? 

Frontenaec.: —I submit. ( Sarcastically .) The future 
evidently belongs to the democracy. 

Beautemps. —This time you speak the truth. 

( Curtain.) 


























































































































« 


















































■ 









































r > i 














































